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Night Two — “It was the longest and liveliest night the club ever saw 



The 

Four and the Fire 

OR 

Five Nights in a Yacht Club 


By Thomas Fleming Day 

Author of “ Songs of Sea and Sail,” “ On Yachts and Yacht Handling,” 
“ Hints to Young Yacht Skippers,” “Adventures 
of Two Yachtsmen,” etc. 


Illustrations by J. W. Sheppard 



) 

) 



New York and London 

The Rudder Publishing Company 


1907 


2 s ? 





LIBRARY of CONGRESS; 
Two Copies Receive 

FEB 12 1908 

Oepyn&m aivir.v 

/He /(, >407 

CLHSS ^ XAc> Nui 
COPY 6* 


Copyright 1907 

THE RUDDER PUBLISHING COMPANY 
New York 



press OF 
THOMSON & CO. 
NEW YORK 


TO 


^Benjamin t£orren$, 

IN TOKEN OF THE AUTHOR’S AFFECTION 
AND ESTEEM 
THESE TALES ARE 


INSCRIBED 


I 







Contents 


PAGE 

THE FOUR 9 

NIGHT ONE 15 

The Schooner Ghost 
The Haunted Yacht 
The Skeleton Commodores 

NIGHT TWO . . . . .59 

Speed at Any Price 
Substance and Shadow 
The Main-sheet Man 

NIGHT THREE 81 

Van Dam’s Damned Dollar 
The Cocoanut Boat 

NIGHT FOUR . . . ; .115 

The Joker Joked 

NIGHT FIVE . . . . .143 

Ducks and Drakes 
Sea Dog Sambo 



Night Two — “ When's the next 
meeting , Jack ? ” said Bossy. 


THE FOUR AND THE FIRE 


The annual meeting was over, the new officers 
chosen by the Senate and elected by Themselves 
and Company had been installed and made their 
speeches. The retiring Commodore had praised 
the Commodore-elect and the Commodore-elect 
had praised the retiring Commodore. Other 
nice things were said by other officers and bet- 
ter things ordered by those of whom they were 
said. The treasurer had assured the club it was 
never in better financial condition, and then read 
a statement that left all hands in doubt as to 
whether the club owed itself $497.63 or whether 
somebody owed it to the club, but the fact that 
the $497.63 existed somewhere or somehow was 
accepted as an evidence of prosperity, and all 
hands applauded the report. Great satisfaction 
was shown when the House Committee admitted 
that the bar had earned $943.13, which along 
with $648.92 disappeared in the restaurant, as 
this showed that the members were sustaining 
their ancient reputation of being better drinkers 
than eaters. In fact, the whole meeting was a 
success, but on account of several members hav- 

9 


IO 


The Four and the Fire 


ing to catch trains, or worse if they got home 
late, it was adjourned early, much to the dis- 
pleasure of Mr. Rotorumpus, who had prepared 
an amendment to the by-laws forbidding ladies 
to be at the clubhouse after twelve midnight, not 
that it in any way concerned him, but because he 
knew the question would stir up a row and give 
him a chance to talk. 

By ones, twos and threes, the members de- 
parted, leaving in front of the fire the four, 
Treadwell Slope, Jack Stay fast, Treport, and 
Bossington. 

As you never met The Four, let me introduce 
therm 

Treadwell Slope, or the Commodore as he 
was called, was a charter member, and a man 
of years in yachting. About the club if you 
spoke of or asked for the Commodore you meant 
Slope. Other commodores came and went like 
the tide, but Slope was a living rock ; other com- 
modores were known as Commodore Black or 
Commodore White, but the Commodore was 
first, last and always Treadwell Slope. He had 
held the office sixteen times, been elected to and 
inherited it. Whenever nobody else could be 
found to serve, Slope took the helm. If a com- 


The Four and the Fire 


ii 


modore died, resigned, or was sent to jail, Slope 
filled out the term. He was honest, good- 
hearted, full of tact, and except when he had 
one of his cantankerous spells the cheeriest and 
most entertaining of companions. 

Jack Stay fast was just the Commodore’s op- 
posite, rather talk than eat. Always at logger- 
heads with some of the other members. Usually 
in the wrong, but always willing to forgive the 
other man. When he came into the house it 
was like a gale of wind shooting into the har- 
bor, everything rocked and roared. A fine 
sailor and full of boat knowledge, which he dis- 
pensed to the world at the top of his lungs. He 
and the Commodore were always together and 
always apart. They were never known to agree 
except on one subject — the club- They both be- 
lieved it to be the greatest organization in the 
world. Yet while he loved the club, and would 
give his last cent and his last minute to insure 
its welfare, it was never properly managed. He 
never wanted to hold an office, but was always 
sore if none was offered him. Half his friends 
were his enemies, and half his enemies his 
friends. The epitome of Jack was uttered by 
old Commodore Warrant after we had laid Stay- 


12 


The Four and the Fire 


fast away in the Spring. Walking away from 
the grave we stood on the brow of the hill just 
above the Eastern gate to Longrest, and looked 
out over the lowlands to where a silver seg- 
ment of the Sound spread its waters, living with 
white, wind-happy sails. Warrant stood look- 
ing for some minutes at the distant water, think- 
ing perhaps of the days he and Stayfast had 
spent upon it together, sail comrades of years. 
Then turning around to me, he said, motioning 
back to where under the budding elms we had 
left him, “God has made better men, but never 
a better fellow.” 

Treport was much younger than either the 
Commodore or Stayfast. He was a good man 
cn a boat in any berth, and a first-class, clever 
chap. He and the Commodore cruised much 
together. 

Bossington was young, good-natured, but not 
overbrainy. When he first joined the club Stay- 
fast had rescued him from the clutches of the 
gang, who had already worked off a rotten sloop 
on the green boy, and were bent upon plucking 
some more of his feathers before he cut his 
yacht-tooth. He swore by Stayfast and was 
usually to be found in his company. 


NIGHT ONE 



Night One — “I beg to propose the health of Coin. Bones at the head of the table 



NIGHT ONE 


“Sit down, Treport,” said Stayfast, as the 
youngster got up and began looking for his coat, 
“you don't want to go home, you have no wife 
sitting up, and that place you dwell in is not a 
cheerful mausoleum by any means; here is a 
good fire, good grog, good company, and bad 
tobacco. It's not exactly Paradise, but it's as 
good an imitation as man is allowed to get up. 
Sit down, I tell you!" 

“Darn it, man, it's late, and darker than the 
inside of old Dan's hat up my way," answered 
Treport, pausing. 

“Dark? Well, that won't hurt you. You 
are not afraid of ghosts, be ye?" 

“I might be if I saw one." 

“Rats; there's no such thing. I've been all 
through this ghost-phantom-spirit business, and 
it's all rot You never saw a man in your life 
who would own up that he ever saw one. It's 
always some friend of his, or he heard So-and- 
So say Tom this or Jack that saw one. Isn't 
that so, Commodore?" 


15 


i6 


The Four and the Fire 


“No,” said the Commodore, “it isn't/’ 

“Well, tar me for a backstay, Tred, you don't 
mean to say you've gone queer on that lay, do 
you?" laughed Stayfast, as Treport resumed his 
seat. 

“Not exactly." 

“Well, do you believe there is any such thing?" 

“I don't know as there is any good reason why 
there shouldn't be ; do you ?" 

“None, except that it's darn rot and I'm sane/' 

“What's going on now?" asked Bossington, 
pushing in his chair between them. 

“Thought you'd gone home, Bossy?" said 
Stayfast. “Why, the Commodore is trying to 
hold up the ghostly end of an argument. Did 
you ever see anything of that rig beating about?" 

“No, never did." 

“I have," said Treport, “not defunct human, 
no, but I've seen the ghost of a vessel." 

“Ghost of what?" put in Bossington. 

“Of a vessel; you order the drinks and I'll 
spin it." 


Treport’s Story 


As I told you, I have never seen a man ghost, 
but I have seen a schooner ghost, and it was this 
way. You remember the Director, the sloop the 
old man had before he bought the smoke boat? 
Well, he and me and Billy South and my brother 
Bob were off cruising in her one August. We’d 
been as far as Nantucket and were working 
back to the Westward; coming down from the 
Chop we had the fair tide all the afternoon and 
a good air and by eight bells were off Sekonnet. 
The old man and Billy were in one watch, and 
Bob and me in the other. We went off at eight, 
and then the wind was almost gone. At twelve, 
when I came out to take the helm, we were off 
Point Jude with a light air almost dead ahead 
and a nasty damp mist hanging about through 
which once in a while you could catch a glimpse 
of the lights on Blockers and the main shore. 

The old man gave me the position on the chart 
and went below. Bob hadn’t been feeling well, 
so I told him to go and lie down and I’d call if 

17 


i8 


The Four and the Fire 


I wanted anything. After checking the sheets 
all around, I got into a comfortable seat and 
started in to get as much as I could out of the 
sloop with what air was to be had. She wasn't 
a bad drifter and we were doing a little with 
what tide there was under our lee helping out. 
It's hard telling how far you can see with a mist 
about, but I guess I could have spotted vessels’ 
lights half a mile off at any time. 

I had stood over quite a stretch on the star- 
board tack and in coming about the weather jib- 
sheet fouled and I went for'ard to clear it. Stoop- 
ing down I chucked the turn off the bitts and 
as I rose up looked to windward and there close 
on my weather bow was a small schooner. She 
was so close it startled me, for I hadn't seen 
anything of any vessel since I came on deck. 

Getting aft I put the wheel up and hardened 
the sloop, as we seemed to be coming together. 
The schooner followed, but on coming to the 
wind again she seemed to be about where she 
was first, so we jogged along together. I looked 
her over; she was a small fisherman and had a 
handkerchief staysail and flying jib set. 

Her persistence in sticking on my bow began 


The Four and the Fire 


19 


to worry me, and after about ten minutes I 
tacked. After belaying the jib-sheets I looked 
for him abeam, expecting to be under his stern — 
but no schooner. Looked forward and there 
she was on my weather bow. “So you tacked, 
too,” I said to myself; “not going to let me get 
away. Well, if it’s a race you want, all right.” 
The breeze now began to grow a bit and I took 
a pull on the main-sheet and then settled down 
to do my best at the wheel. 

Finding the sloop made no gain I kept her 
full and tried to run through his lee; no use; 
then I tacked; she was on my weather bow 
again. Until this time I hadn’t the slightest 
feeling of apprehension, but after the last tack I 
began to get queer. It seemed to me as though 
I must get away from that vessel. I shook like 
a sail in the wind, and felt a funny sensation 
running up and down my backbone as though 
somebody was sliding a piece of ice along it. I 
wanted to call out but my voice seemed to be 
paralyzed. 

Then I got almost wild in my efforts to get 
clear of the craft. I tacked and tacked, went 
first on one board and then the other, but no use ; 
maneuver as I would she was always on my 


20 


The Four and the Fire 


weather bow. At last in desperation I slacked 
off the sheet, put up the helm and ran right off 
the wind. For some minutes I did not dare to 
look, but when I did glance astern she was gone. 
I breathed a joyful breath and was about to haul 
on the wind again when, happening to look ahead 
under the lee, there she was right off the bow. 
This was too much. 

I jumped below and shook Bob, 

“Come on deck,” I said. 

He came up, putting on his coat, and stood in 
the cockpit looking around. The yacht had 
come to the wind, the boom board off and the 
canvas shaking. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“Do you see that schooner?” I asked, grab- 
bing hold of his arm and pointing at the vessel. 

My voice was full of excitement and my hand 
shook on his arm. He looked for a half a min- 
ute where I pointed, and then answered with a 
yawn: 

“No! I don’t see any.” 

“Don’t you see that vessel on the bow?” 

“No, I can’t make her out,” he replied after 
another look. 


The Four and the Fire 


21 


“Why, yes, you can ; there she is close to ; she’s 
a fisherman; see her staysail?” 

Bob now turned and looked at me, then he 
sidled off toward the companion, and as he went 
down turned half round and said, “Take another 
drink!” 

This was too much ; my heart seemed to burst 
and I let out a yell that could have been heard 
for miles; the next I knew father was bending 
over me in the cockpit, his arm under my head, 
trying to force a drink of water past my lips. 

“What’s the matter, boy?” he asked as I tried 
to sit up. 

“The schooner,” I mumbled. 

“What does he say?” inquired the old man of 
Bob and Billy. 

“Something about a schooner. He called me 
on deck and wanted to know if I saw it. I 
guess he went to sleep and had a night- 
mare. I couldn’t see any schooner. Then 
as I went below he yelled and fell down,” ex- 
plained Bob. 

The next morning I told them the whole story 
and they laughed and jollied me all the rest of 
the day. Nightmare, they said; you went to 
sleep and dreamed it. You’re a nice one to 


22 


The Four and the Fire 


leave at the wheel, going to sleep, etc. As it was 
no use arguing over what you can't prove, I let 
them have their fling, but just the same it was 
no dream and I was wide awake. 

That evening we made New London and an- 
chored. Bob went ashore and bought a local 
paper; in that was the story of the sinking of a 
fishing schooner named Roger Williams off 
Block Island by one of the Boston steamers. She 
was bound to Noank with a full fare. The 
steamer ran her down, cut her in two and 
drowned seven of the crew. Father admitted 
that he had passed the steamer just before I 
came on deck and the accident must have taken 
place soon after. They might talk as they liked 
about my dreaming, but I am satisfied that the 
schooner that held on to our weather that night 
was the ghost of the Roger Williams bound in 
for her port, and nothing or nobody can make 
me believe otherwise. 

* * * 

‘That's not bad, Treport," said Stay fast, “for 
a youth of your age and limited experience, and 
what is more, it is a bit original. I have always 
said that if we are to be haunted by the spirits 
of departed animate things we ought at least to 


The Four and the Fire 


23 


allow them the comfort of having their proper 
belongings to cart about with them. Therefore 
the phantom of an inanimate thing is just as 
likely to be knocking about as not. For in- 
stance, you take a real respectable ghost that has 
haunted a particular house for several genera- 
tions, if he has got nothing else, he has at least 
established squatters’ rights to his domicile, 
when along comes some improving cuss and 
pulls down the house. Now, what’s to become 
of that ghost?” 

“Why, he’ll have to move into new quarters 
or else go back to spirit land and tie up,” said 
Treport. 

“Nonsense, my boy; the house being defunct, 
as it were, becomes a ghost and forever after 
leads a spirit existence. Just so with your 
schooner. I suppose there’s thousands of de- 
funct vessel ghosts sailing about. I’ll bet Tred 
here has seen a dozen of ’em in his day.” 

“No,” replied the Commodore, “I have not; 
but I have been on board a haunted yacht.” 

“Come, come, Commodore,” laughed Bossing- 
ton, “you don’t mean it in earnest, do you?” 

“You can laugh as you please,” said the Com- 
modore as he lit up another cigar, “but I be- 


24 


The Four and the Fire 


lieve there’s something in this ghost business, 
although I don’t want to say that I can say what 
it is, but there’s something. You can’t explain it 
and I can’t, but there’s something. I had a queer 
start myself once. I know what Stayfast will 
say, but it wasn’t. When I saw it I was as 
sober as I am this minute.” 



Night One — Geo. Brooks 


The Commodore's Tale 


It's over thirty years ago. Yes, must be all 
of that. I can't remember the exact year, but 
somewhere about seventy-four or seventy-five. 
I was in the iron business then and we used to 
import rails from Sheffield; cargoes of them; 
thousands of tons. A man named John Cald- 
well, who was one of the fellows who built the 
Pacific Road, and made his pile out of it, had a 
lot of dealing with our firm and I got to know 
him pretty well by having to correspond with 
him for some four or five years. Never saw 
him, though, until one day he came into the office 
and looked up the Boss* 

Our place was on Front Street, a warehouse 
with an office in the back, the front being piled 
full of bar-steel and iron and all kinds of metal. 
The Boss had his desk in a room behind, under 
a skylight, and a dirty, dingy place it was, not 
like the offices you have to-day, with onyx walls 
and tiled floors. No typewriters then, my boys; 
all the letters had to be written with pen and 
ink, and many a night I worked in that place 

25 


26 


The Four and the Fire 


until ten or eleven in order to keep up with my 
job. 

It was pretty ghostly sometimes in that old 
hole, being there alone for hours; but I never 
minded it, although I got some nasty raps from 



Night One —John Caldwell 

some of those steel bars when making for the 
door in the dark. In fact, I never thought of 
ghosts except the one that walked at the tail- 
end of the month. 

Well, this day the Boss called me into the of- 
fice where he was with a man, whom he intro- 


The Four and the Fire 


27 


duced as John Caldwell of St. Louis. I knew 
at once who he was, and we shook hands, and 
had a bit of a talk about rails, and then the Boss 
said: 

“Tred, you go yachting, don't you?" 

"Yes, sir, I do a little of it." 

"You know something about these yachts, 
don't you? Know a good one when you see it?" 

"Yes, sir, I guess I do." 

"Well, Mr. Caldwell, here, wants to buy one 
and I don't know anything about such things, 
so I'll place the matter in your hands. You can 
have a talk and get to business." 

That night I went up to the hotel and had a 
talk with Mr. Caldwell and the next day started 
out to hunt him up a yacht. They weren't very 
plenty in those days, and there were no brokers 
to do the hunting for you, so I went down to see 
a skipper I knew who lived down at Tompkins- 
ville, Staten Island. He told me that the only 
boat about the size and price I wanted was ly- 
ing over in Erie Basin, so we went over that 
afternoon. She was a big schooner, I've for- 
gotten the name, but she was quite a crack in 
her day and not then over five years old. We 
hunted up the agent of the owner in a real-es- 


28 


The Four and the Fire 


tate office up in Fourth Avenue. He offered to 
part with the vessel for $36,000. This was a 
good deal more than Caldwell wanted to pay, 
so we went up to the hotel and saw him. He 
turned the bargain down, much to the disgust 
of my skipper friend, who hoped to get the job 
of running her. 

Well, I started in on another hunt and learned 
that there was a smaller schooner lying up in 
Flushing Bay that could be bought cheap. This 
boat was Loiterer and she had been out of com- 
mission for a couple of years and was in pretty 
bad shape, but we got her cheap, $5,000 was the 
price; but it cost nearly twice as much again to 
put her in shape. I had her towed to Card's yard 
at City Island, and they were nearly two months 
over the job. 

While she was fixing up, Mr. Caldwell stayed 
at Newport, and when the boat was done he 
wrote me to bring her down there. The Boss 
gave me thirty days' leave and I made ready to 
start, having shipped a crew of six all told. But 
I forgot to tell you that when we bought the 
schooner we looked up her record and found she 
had changed hands about a dozen times since 
she was built; nobody seeming to keep her over 


The Four and the Fire 


29 


more than one season. She had been owned in 
Boston, Newport, Baltimore, and had at one time 
been out to China. Her last owner I never saw, 
as he was in Europe, and we made the deal with 
his lawyers- 

She had a good-sized main cabin and three 
staterooms, one large one forward and two on 
the other side. In the saloon was a biggish 
standing table with a swinging lamp over it and 
a glass rack. I’m telling you this so as you will 
understand better what follows. 

When I got aboard I took the room farthest 
aft, and that night, as we were at anchor in Hart 
Island Roads with no wind, I turned in about 
eleven o’clock. I lay with my head aft, and left 
the door of the room open. From this position 
I could see across the table and the door of the 
large room on the other side. It was pretty 
warm and for some time I couldn’t get to sleep. 

At last I dropped off with my face turned to 
the side of the ship. I was awakened by hear- 
ing somebody come down the steps into the 
cabin, and thinking it was the sailing master I 
turned over to ask him what the time was and if 
there was any show of wind. But before I could 
speak the person passed quickly along the other 


30 


The Four and the Fire 


side of the table and went into the large state- 
room. 

I saw at once that it was not the sailing mas- 
ter or steward. It was a well-built, light-haired 
man, dressed in a loose white shirt and white 
trousers. For a minute or two I thought per- 
haps it was one of the crew, sent to fetch some- 
thing, but as he did not come out I jumped out 
of bed and went to see what he was at in there, 
as the crew had no business in the cabin. Push- 
ing the door wide open, for it was half-swung- 
to, I looked in; the room was empty. Thinking 
there might be a door leading forward, I got a 
match, lit the lamp and searched thoroughly, but 
the bulkhead was solid. I now began to feel a 
bit mystified-. But still thinking it was one of 
the crew, I went on deck and called the lookout 
aft. He came along the deck and stopped in the 
light of the companion. He had on a heavy 
black coat and regular sailor’s hat, and I saw at 
once he was not the man. 

“Who was that came into the cabin just now?” 
I asked. 

“Nobody, sir; I didn’t see anybody,” he re- 
plied. 

“Has anybody been on deck?” 


The Four and the Fire 


3i 


“No, sir.” 

“Where’s the sailing master?” 

“Turned in, sir.” 

“The rest of the crew?” 

“All below, sir.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ll go and see, sir.” 

“Very well.” 

The man went forward and below and soon 
came back- “They are all below, sir,” he said. 
Then he asked, his curiosity getting the better of 
his discipline, “Did you see anybody about, 
sir?” 

“I thought I did, but never mind; just keep 
your eye on the companion, will you?” 

“All right, sir.” 

I went below and turned in after another look 
around, but could not sleep and was glad to get 
up when I heard the first stir on deck- The next 
day on our way up the Sound I kept thinking 
it over and tried to persuade myself that it had 
been a bit of nightmare and to take comfort in 
that thought. 

That day the wind being slack we only made 
Morris Cove and went in there to anchor. I 
determined to get good and sleepy before turn- 


32 


The Four and the Fire 


ing in, so sat up until after twelve yarning with 
the skipper. Just after the bell struck, the stew- 
ard, a little Englishman, who had knocked about 
on the sea all his life, came up and asked if I 
wanted anything ; if not, he would like to turn in. 

“Nothing, thank you, steward,” I answered; 
“you can leave the brandy and soda out, that's 
all.” For in those days no gentleman drank 
whiskey. 

The skipper saying good-night I finished my 
smoke and turned in with my face away from the 
door and soon went to sleep. I was started out 
of it by hearing somebody in my room ; I turned 
over with a start and found the steward stand- 
ing by my bunk. 

“Did you call me, sir?” he asked. 

“No, steward,” I replied. 

“Very well, sir; I thought I 'eard you.” 

The next morning after the skipper had fin- 
ished his breakfast and gone on deck, I said to 
the steward, who was fussing around the table, 
evidently trying to open a talk: 

“What made you think I called you last 
night ?” 

“Well, sir,” he says, “I 'ad a kind of a queer 
start I hain't got over just yet, sir.” 


The Four and the Fire 


33 


“A queer start ?" 

“Yes, sir. I thought 'as you come to my door 
and knocked and says, Tor God's sake, steward, 
get hup, Vs murdered the Captain.' I jumps 
hout o' my bunk an' opens the door an' sees you 
go into the saloon 'ere, sir. Then I comes an' 
wakes you hup." 

“You must have been dreaming." 

“Perhaps I was, sir;" then he added, after a 
pause, “You don't walk in your sleep, do you, 
sir?" 

“Walk in my sleep? No, never heard I did." 

“Perhaps not, sir." 

After the steward went forward to his china 
shop I sat for some time thinking. I was afraid 
to go more into details with him for fear he 
might suspect that I had seen or heard some- 
thing strange and this would at once make him 
communicative to the crew and skipper, and 
knowing sailors as I did, meant that we would 
be without hands just as soon as we made New- 
port, so I decided to sit still and wait for fur- 
ther doings; but you can believe that I would 
have given a month's salary — and that meant 
something in those days, — to be out of that yacht. 

That night we made Newport about nine 


34 


The Four and the Fire 


o’clock and went into the harbor and anchored. 
After all was snug I ordered the boat and went 
on shore, determined never to sleep on that ves- 
sel again. Mind you, I wasn’t sure that I had 
seen anything or that there was really anything 
queer about her, but I had a feeling that I’d 
sleep more comfortable out of her than in. A 
sort of nervous dread had taken possession and I 
was completely off my man. 

I found Mr* Caldwell and he was glad to see 
me, and at once proposed that we start on a 
cruise East. I made a very lame attempt to get 
out of it by saying I must return to work. 

“Not at all,” he said. “Mr. Rich wrote me 
that he had given you thirty days and as much 
more as you wanted and you are to go with me. 
I have invited two other men, friends of mine 
from the West, and you must go with us; I 
won’t hear of your leaving. How is the yacht?” 

I told him she was a good sailer and very com- 
fortable, for so she was, and then very reluc- 
tantly promised to go, bracing myself with the 
hope that company would make things more 
cheerful. 

The next morning I went on board to tell the 
sailing master of the cruise and to see about 


The Four and the Fire 


35 


water and stores. When I got on board I found 
that the skipper had gone ashore. 

After a few words with the steward, he beck- 
oned me into my berth and, closing the door, 
said in half a whisper: 

“The master’s left ’er, sir.” 

“Herbert left her?” I inquired. “What for?” 

“ ’E seen it last night, sir, sittin’ at the saloon 
table.” 

“Seen what?” I asked, although I knew the 
moment he opened his head what was coming. 

“Same as I did, sir.” 

“Same as you did — what’s that?” 

“The man in white, sir, same as I seen the 
night I thought you called me.” 

“Did you tell the skipper that story?” I asked- 

“So ’elp me, sir, I never mentioned it.” 

This was a lie, I knew, but it was no use say- 
ing so. 

“Well, don’t say anything more about it.” 

“I won’t, sir; but did you see it, sir?” 

I couldn’t lie to the man, and it was no use be- 
ing evasive, so I answered, “Yes.” 

“What is ’e, sir?” 

“How the devil do I know?” for I was angry 
at having to own up. 


36 


The Four and the Fire 


“Very good, sir;” and he opened the door and 
went forward. 

Here was just what I expected. What to do 
I could not think. I did not have the courage to 
tell Mr. Caldwell, for even with what I had seen 
and heard it would be difficult to persuade a man 
of his stamp, that I was anything else but drunk 
or crazy. And then to have to own up that you 
had been instrumental in loading a man down 
with a haunted yacht was a rather disagreeable 
proposition. After thinking I decided to pay 
off and discharge the whole crew and ship an- 
other, giving Mr. Caldwell the excuse that I 
found them a poor lot. This I did, although the 
steward expressed a desperate willingness to re- 
main if I would double his wages. 

But I found that shipping a new crew right in 
the height of the season was a difficult matter. 
All that was left were the scruff, but after some 
searching I got four men, a cook, and steward, 
but there wasn’t a sailing master to be had who 
could be trusted to go where we wanted to. At 
last I remembered an old yachting friend of 
mine who was laid up doing nothing, and deter- 
mined to wire him to come on. This was George 


The Four and the Fire 


37 


Brooks; you never knew him, as he passed out 
before your time. 

Brooks had been in the revenue service early 
in the war and then went into the navy ; in sixty- 
five he got out of that and ran a ship between 
New York and the Southern ports. Afterwards 
he took to shore and for two or three years went 
sailing with me on holidays and Sundays. He 
knew the coast from Quoddy Head to Rio 
Grande like a book. 

I told Mr. Caldwell about him and wired him 
to come on. He came up the next day on the 
Bristol and I met him at the wharf; we had 
breakfast and then I took him down into a quiet 
place and over the table told him the whole story. 

Brooks listened without a word until I got 
spun out. Then he said: “My boy, you are 
green. If you’d been to sea as long as I have, 
you’d have seen through the game at once. That 
steward is at the bottom of the whole, you can bet 
on that. He gave himself away when he offered 
to stay if you doubled his shot. Ten to one but 
he had a friend he wanted to put in Herbert’s 
berth, and part of the game was to get the sail- 
ing master over the side.” 

“But the sailing master saw it,” I interrupted. 


38 


The Four and the Fire 


“How do you know he did? The steward 
told you-. He scared Herbert with his yams 
and got him out of the way and then made up 
that lie to explain why he left.” 

“But how about my seeing it?” I asked. 

“You didn’t; just dreaming, or else it was 
the steward tricked up to do you.” 

“Well, I hope so,” I said. 

“Don’t you get worried, my boy. If it’s man, 
ghost or devil, I’ll have him out of that schooner 
or my name is not George.” 

All this talk was reassuring, but yet I could 
not get out of my mind the appearance or what- 
ever you like to call that I had seen across the 
cabin. 

The next day we shipped the owner and his 
two friends, a Mr. Adby and a Mr. Gail; they 
were both Western men and had something to 
do with railroads, in which Caldwell was inter- 
ested. We got underway and then had a talk 
over the cruise, and as Brooks knew all the 
Maine coast, having been stationed at Portland, 
we decided on a cruise down that way. 

Brooks took the master’s berth, Mr. Caldwell 
the big room, the other two went into the for- 
ward room and I kept mine. That evening we 


The Four and the Fire 


39 


anchored in Holmes Hole, and all hands aft 
turned in about eleven. The next morning after 
getting underway Brooks began to guy me about 
the thing, as he called it, not being seen. 

“I told you, my boy, it went overside with that 
scoundrel of a steward,” he said; and I began 
to think so, too. 

We had a fine run over the Shoals with a 
strong Sou’wester and that night got into 
Provincetown about eight o’clock. All hands 
being tired turned in early. The next morning 
at breakfast, Mr. Adby, a sort of quiet kind of 
a chap, looked up from his plate across at the 
Captain and said: 

“Captain, I don’t know much about the cus- 
toms of the sea, but is it usual for one of the 
men to come into the cabin here and make him- 
self at home after all are in bed?” 

I felt my heart give a jump up into my throat 
at these words and gave Brooks a quick look. 

“One of the men, Mr. Adby,” replied 
Brooks, after a pause, “nobody comes in here 
but the steward unless he is sent.” And then he 
turned the conversation by asking me something 
about the yacht’s sails. 

When we were on deck getting underway Mr. 


40 


The Four and the Fire 


Adby came up to me as I was leaning over coil- 
ing down some of the topsail gear. 

“I'm afraid/' he said, “I made some kind of 
break at the table this morning, when I asked 
Captain Brooks about that man being in the 
cabin. I saw your look." 

“Not at all," I replied, without raising my 
face. 

“I didn't mean to give anything away," he 
went on. 

Straightening up I looked him square in the 
face. “Look here," I said, “you are a man with 
some nerve, aren't you?" 

“I have that reputation," he answered. 

“Well, then, just as soon as we get started 
just come quietly down into my room; 
I want to speak with you." 

After getting clear of Race Point I went be- 
low and Adby followed. Shutting the door I 
motioned him to a seat, and taking a perch on 
the edge of the bunk, said: 

“Now tell me all about it." 

“I don't want to get anybody into trouble," 
he began. 

“You won't," I said. 

“Well, then, last night I woke up thirsty and 


The Four and the Fire 


4i 


went into the cabin to get a drink from the water 
bottle in the rack. After drinking I put the 
glass and bottle back and stooped over the table 
to have a look at a newspaper that was lying on 
it, something having caught my eye. I probably 
read for two or three minutes when I heard 
somebody come into the cabin. I looked up and 
a man passed me and went and took a look at 
the clock. He stood looking at it for a minute, 
then he turned round and went to a closet over 
there, opened it, took out some papers and sat 
down at the head of the table. There was some- 
thing strange about his looks and — well, I tried 
to speak to him, but I couldn't force a word out 
of my mouth. I never felt so queer in all my 
life." 

"How was he dressed?" I asked excitedly. 

"All in white ; he had a white loose shirt open 
in the front and white trousers." Then he 
went on, "I didn't know what to do, so went 
on reading, trying to watch him out of the cor- 
ner of my eye. Suddenly I looked and he was 
gone." 

"Have you seen any one on board that looks 
at all like him?" I asked. 


42 


The Four and the Fire 


“No ; but I thought it might be one of the crew 
whom I hadn't noticed." 

Then I told him the whole story and requested 
him to keep quiet. After lunch I had Brooks 
down to look over a chart and then had Adbv 
go over his part of the story again. When he 
was through Brooks whistled and then sat think- 
ing for some time. 

Then he asked, “Will you and Mr. Adby stand 
watch here to-night?" 

We both consented. 

Between twelve and one that night we were 
off Thatchers Island with a light offshore breeze. 
Brooks was on deck and Mr. Adby and I were 
in the saloon playing cribbage, the rest had 
turned in. Suddenly Brooks came down the 
companion stairs and staggered up to the table. 
His face was white as a sheet and he shook 
like a leaf, as they say- 

“For God's sake, give me some brandy!" he 
exclaimed. 

Adby grabbed the decanter and poured out a 
drink, and Brooks, dropping into a chair, swal- 
lowed it. Both of us stood over him waiting 
until he spoke. 

“My God," he said, “what is it?" 


The Four and the Fire 


43 


Then recovering his man he told us what had 
happened. 

“I shifted the hood of the binnacle round so 
as to get the bearings of the light, and in getting 
it back straight jarred one of the lamps out 
So I took the wheel from the man and told him 
to take it forward, prick up the wick, and relight 
it. While he was gone I was looking up into 
the sail trying to see how near she would go 
with her sheets as we had them, when I felt 
somebody behind me. Thinking it was the man 
come back I was just going to give him the 
wheel and tell him to put her back on the course, 
when a strange voice said, 'Go below, go below, 
he’s murdered the Captain.’ I turned sharp round 
and there stood a man dressed in white. I don’t 
know what I did next until I got down here.” 

"Let’s go on deck,” I said, and jumped up the 
stairs, they following. We found the man at 
the wheel trying to get the schooner back on her 
course, she being up in the wind. 

"Did you find anybody at the wheel when you 
came aft?” I asked him. 

"No, sir, I left the Captain here; he was gone 
when I came aft with the lamp, sir.” 

"See anybody on deck?” 


44 


The Four and the Fire 


“Only the lookout, sir, for’ard.” 

I went forward and questioned the lookout. 
He had seen nobody but the helmsman who went 
below to relight the lamp. 

After some few words we all three decided to 
remain on deck. Brooks was completely knocked 
over, and swore he never would stay anywhere 
on that vessel alone again. 

The next morning, after a consultation, we 
decided to tell the owner all and ask his opinion 
as to what was best to do. I told my story first, 
then Mr. Adby his, and Brooks followed. 

The owner listened attentively and then paced 
up and down the cabin for a few minutes think- 
ing ; at last he sat down opposite to us and said : 
“Gentlemen, strange as it is, I believe every word 
of what you have told me. But before we de- 
cide on anything, let us search the yacht. Is 
there any place where a man could hide?” 

“Not many,” said Brooks, “but Fll have a 
thorough search.” 

“Better wait until we get into harbor so as 
not to alarm the men.” 

We made Portland that evening and anchored, 
and Mr. Caldwell and Mr. Gail went ashore to 
stay. Brooks, Adby and myself determined to 


The Four and the Fire 


45 


brave it out. Nothing happened. The next 
morning we got the crew to work and searched 
her from stem to stern. Had all the sails out, 
routed down in the bilges and over the ballast 
but found nothing. Then we went ashore, met 
the owner and had it out. 

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Caldwell after we had 
told of our search, “I believe you are brave men 
and not to be frightened by anything living, but 
I cannot ask you or any man to face such a thing, 
nor do I want to face it myself. I am sorry to 
have to break up our cruise, and more sorry to 
lose your society, but if we cannot get another 
yacht to continue in I am going to give the trip 
up. You,” he continued, turning to me, “and 
the Captain can see if you can find and charter 
another yacht here ; if not, we will have to part.” 

“What shall we do with Loiterer?” I asked. 

“Do anything you can with her; sell her; if 
not, burn her up.” 

“Then you believe that she is haunted?” said 
Mr. Gail, who on hearing our tales had been a 
bit skeptical. 

Mr. Caldwell looked at him for a moment 
and then in his quiet way said: “Believe she is 
haunted? I know it. That man came into my 


46 


The Four and the Fire 


room and spoke to me. But now no more of it. 
What will you gentlemen have to drink ?" 

* * * 

When the Commodore stopped all hands sat 
for some minutes looking into the fire, then 
young Treport asked, “What became of the 
yacht, Commodore ?" 

“I sold her to a fisherman for $1,800. She 
made two or three trips to the banks and was 
lost, so I heard. ,, 

“Commodore," said Stayfast, after stretching 
out his legs and yawning, “you ought to apply 
for a medaL I'm only in the second class after 
that. Do you know that until you added that 
postscript about selling the yacht for $1,800, I 
believed every word of the yarn. But I've been 
berthed with you too long ever to believe you 
made any such break as that. Why, a haunted 
yacht, she'd have been worth $20,000 a year just 
to exhibit. Why, you could have hauled her 
into a slip and charged fifty a head to see her 
and hear the thrilling details from your own lips. 
You never let a snap like that go by." 

“Oh, shut up talking rot, Jack," said the Com- 
modore. “I never expected you would believe 
it, but I tell you, man, if you had been there 


The Four and the Fire 


47 


you’d have been the first to get out of that craft. 
I wouldn’t have stopped one night aboard of 
her alone for all the schooners afloat,” 

“Perhaps not sober,” continued Stayfast, 
“but ” 

“No buts about it. You wait till you cross 
hawse with a real ghost.” 

“I hope to some day, but so far they’ve dodged 
me ; but I had a friend once that saw five of them 
at one sitting.” 

“Now you’re giving lee-gauge, Jack,” said 
Bossington. 

“No, I am not, Bossy; I’m holding right on 
to my wind. I said I never saw a spook and 
that’s truth and I don’t believe, admit or even 
surmise that there is such a thing either afloat 
or ashore. But a man is not responsible for 
what his friends see any more than he is for the 
bad cooking of his wife.” 

“I don’t know about that,” put in the Commo- 
dore. “Some are responsible, as they encour- 
age ’em to keep at it by eatin’ what they cook. 
Well, go on with your yarn.” 

“Not to-night, boys, it’s getting late and I 
promised to be in before one.” 


48 


The Four and the Fire 


“One be hanged; go on, let's have the yarn 
and I'll order the drinks/' said Bossington. 

“Well, if you insist, but, mind you, I relate the 
story under protest, and do not in any way vouch 
for its truth." 

“That is totally unnecessary," said the Com- 
modore. 



Night One — “I never felt so queer in all my life. 


Stayfast’s Yarn 


Twenty years ago when I joined the Leaky 
Bay Yacht Club that celebrated organization was 
at the zenith of its prosperity and a model club 
in every matter and form. It had one hundred 
and seventeen members and three boats that 
could float. These were kept moored off the 
house so as to make things look nautical, and as 
a place of refuge when the shore abode got too 
hot to hold some of the more advanced and skil- 
ful of the members. There would have been 
only one boat, if it hadn’t been that the consti- 
tution obliged the flag-officers to be yacht own- 
ers, and as we had to have three Commodores 
by the powers of the same instrument we had to 
have three boats. There was a big list of yachts 
printed in the back of the club-book, but most 
of these hung on the walls in frames and some 
in wood, until fuel got high priced and we used 
them to keep the fire going. 

When I joined, William Packhazard Boggs 
was Commodore, and had been three years-. He 
first came into prominence, so I heard, at the an- 

49 


50 


The Four and the Fire 


nual meeting by suggesting an amendment to 
Article I of the Constitution which, as you know, 
always reads something like this: “The objects 
of this club are to encourage yacht building, 
racing and sailing.” Boggs got up and moved 
the amendment by striking out that part of the 
paragraph and inserting in lieu thereof the fol- 
lowing: “to encourage drinking , gambling and 
general h — l raising.” That made him Commo- 
dore. 

He was a Napoleon of drinkers and no liv- 
ing man, or dead either, as you shall hear, ever 
put him under the table. He used to get just so 
and there he stood pat; and he could keep right 
along to a certain point of saturation like a 
sponge in a dinkey’s bilge. The only unyacht- 
ing thing he was addicted to was a practice of 
sleeping nights on his boat ; a practice for which 
some of the members tried to impeach him, but 
failed, owing to his having got all hands three 
sheets in the wind before the meeting was called 
to order. 

Commodore Boggs — Tred remembers him — 
was a short, full-bilged, square-sided cuss, with 
a head bigger at the top than at the bottom, and 
a pair of large feet that were always breaking 


The Four and the Fire 


5i 


tacks with each other. He had a voice like the 
hooter in a Fall River boat, and a laugh that 
started down somewhere in the big intestine and 
rolled up and out like a clap of Jersey thunder. 

Well, to get along, the night he was ashore 
raising hookey with the top-notch crowd and 
having silenced all their guns he started to go 
aboard his packet. It was blowing a pretty stiff 
breeze of wind, Northeast, and raining a bit now 
and then. Getting down to the float he hailed 
the Blackjack, but the crew had gone to sleep 
with the hatch on and didn’t hear him, so 
after thundering away for a few minutes, he 
cussed and taking a dinkey lying at the float 
started to row out. Somehow or other he missed 
the yacht and blew out into the bay. Finding 
he was on the wrong tack he wore round and 
tried to work in home, but the wind was too 
much and he went stern-first for the broad and 
open waters. 

How long he rowed I don’t know, but he used 
to say it was three hours, when suddenly a big^ 
white sloop ran over the boat. As she struck 
the dinkey the Commodore grabbed the bobstay 
and with the desperation of a man working for 
his life swung himself upon the bowsprit and 


52 


The Four and the Fire 


crawled in over the bows. When he got straight- 
ened up and had hold of some of the gear abreast 
of the mast, a man came up to him. Boggs was 
just about to give the fellow the devil for run- 
ning him down, when the man said, saluting: 
“Commodore, the gentlemen are waiting for 
you ; will you please step below ?” This kind of 
threw the Commodore up in the wind and he 
followed the sailor aft without a word. Here 
his guide motioned him to step down into the 
cabin which was brilliantly lighted. Boggs did. 

As soon as his eyes got used to the light he 
saw seated at a table that ran the length of the 
cabin five figures, dressed in Commodores’ uni- 
forms and having their caps oa One at the 
fore end of the table and two on either side, there 
being a vacant chair at the after end and a big 
bowl of steaming liquor in the middle. As he 
entered the five figures rose and, removing their 
caps, saluted him. Then he noticed that not 
one of the five had a single hair or piece of flesh 
on his head, showing nothing but bare white 
skulls. This for a moment kind of gave the 
Commodore a knockdown, but he filled in, luffed 
up, and faced the meeting like a man. 

“Welcome, Commodore,” exclaimed the five, 


The Four and the Fire 


53 


lifting to their fleshless lips a glass of hot punch. 
“To your health, sir,” said the one at the end of 
the table and the rest repeated the toast, and all 
were about to drink when Boggs, getting a 
whiff of the liquor, shouted, “Hold on, boys, 
Tm with you,” and seizing and filling a glass, 
drank it off. Then the five sat down. 

The Commodore, a bit out of breath by his 
late exertions and the unusual warmth of his 
reception, paused for a moment and then said: 
“Gentlemen, I am delighted to meet you; it is 
indeed an unexpected pleasure to be shipwrecked 
into so pleasant a company of men of my own 
rank in the nautical world; as you all seem to 
know me without the formality of an introduc- 
tion, I propose that we dispense with the cere- 
mony and proceed to business, as I am devilish 
thirsty after my long row, so seeing, I beg to 
propose the health of Commodore Bones at the 
head of the table.” 

Then the skeleton on the right proposed the 
Leaky Bay Yacht Club and Boggs returned by 
proposing his health under the nom-de-os of 
Commodore Spareribs, and they drank to the 
sport and to all flag-officers dead and living. 
Toast after toast was proposed, but despite the 


54 ^ 


The Four and the Fire 


best the five defunct could do Boggs kept his 
seat and filled and emptied his glass every time. 
Subjects for toasts having been exhausted, Com- 
modore Boggs proposed that he sing a song and 
that after every verse they have a drink. This 
song, so Boggs said, consisted of 999 verses. 

This settled four of the skeleton commodores, 
first to port and then to starboard they col- 
lapsed and slid down under the table with a hol- 
low rattle of well-dried bones, leaving only his 
vis-a-vis, Commodore Bones, to be dealt with. 

“Well, old Dogsbreakfast,” said Boggs as he 
paused to get wind for the 779th verse, “it 
seems you and me are left alone in our glory 
to fight this thing out. How do you feel? ,, 

The bony phantom made an effort to reply, 
but the only sound was a hollow gurgle and a 
faint rasping of the scapulas as they rubbed over 
the cervical processes. 

“Two more,” said Boggs to himself, “and I’ve 
got him. I’m pretty nearly bilged myself. 
They had a big advantage, too, seeing as how 
they cannot hold the stuff, being nothing but 
slats. But here goes.” 

Sure enough the last Commodore’s ghost 
rattled down under the table and Boggs stood 


The Four and the Fire 


55 


alone victor of the field. He rose to his feet, 
gave one resounding yell of triumph and went 
to join the fallen. 

The next morning the crew of a market sloop 
saw a boat afloat and coming up caught and 
hauled it alongside with a boat hook. A pair 
of legs were hanging over the stern and in the 
bottom calmly sleeping was the Commodore, his 
head resting against the rowing thwart 

They pulled him aboard and brought him and 
the dinkey back to the club. 

The Commodore always swore that the crew 
of the phantom yacht must have thrown him into 
the boat and set him adrift, and perhaps they 

did- * * * 

“You don't mean to say there's any truth in 
that yarn, do you, Jack?" said Bossington, as 
they rose to go. 

“Not a word of it, Bossy, not a word; but it's 
a better story than either Treport's or the Com- 
modore's, and that's something to recommend 
it." 





NIGHT TWO 



Night Two —''Anything ! anything ! everything!' 
shouted the old man. 


NIGHT TWO 


“Where's Stayfast to-night ?" asked Treport, 
as he drew his chair up to the fire beside the 
Commodore. 

“Not turned up yet. He's been up to City 
Island to look at his boat ; he's having it rebuilt," 
answered the Commodore. 

“She's not worth it, is she?" said Bossington, 
who was standing with his back to the chimney- 
piece, clearing his pipe with a broom straw. 

“Worth it, no; but he would not part with that 
old trap for her weight in gold." 

“She was quite a crack once, wasn't she, Com- 
modore?" asked Treport. 

“Yes, years ago when he first bought her. I 
sailed a good many races in the Old Horsecar, 
as we used to call her, and won 'em, too. 

“Stayfast was a great hand for carrying sail, 
and it's a wonder he never upset the old box. 
He came very near it several times^ Her rig 
has been cut down considerable in late years and 
now he's going to get into the fashion by striking 
his topmast and giving her a pole. The next 

59 


6o 


The Four and the Fire 


■ 

you hear he’ll have an engine in her. Times 
have changed;” and after this remark the Com- 
modore sat silently gazing into the fire for some 
moments, lost in deep thought. Treport filled 
and lighted his pipe and sat down beside him. 



The Commodore's Story 


Some time in the fifties, there was an old fel- 
low by the name of Waterbury Peet, or, as he 
was familiarly called, Waterbug Peet, who be- 
longed to a club that harbored down on the Har- 
lem River. He was a good soul, a kind friend 
and a poor enemy, if he ever had any enemy in 
his life, which I doubt. He was always about 
the water sailing or at the clubhouse, and put 
up more money for prizes and club wants than 
any other two men in the organization. 

Like Stayfast, he had an old sloop that 
he stuck to like a barnacle to a rock, and that he 
fully believed to be the finest-modeled vessel 
afloat. He used to stick her into every race, but 
she had no more show of winning than a lame 
cart horse would if run against a drive of first- 
class racers. The boys used to try to persuade 
him to sell her and buy a new boat, but it was 
no use; he stuck to her like a man to his first 
love. Two or three times they tried to throw 
him a race, but it was no use, it seemed as though 
she couldn't win; not even a walk over. 


61 


62 


The Four and the Fire 


Well, one race I went with him, and the old 
man was all excited and, from his talk, crack 
sure of getting first, although we had four smart 
boats in the class against us. We all jollied him 
along and promised to do our best, and we did. 

In those days we used to start the boats from 
the main channel over against the Harlem Flats 
shore and sail through the Gate up the river to 
and around the buoy of Throgs Point. Of 
course, we had to go and come with the tide. 
That was before, mind you, the reefs were 
blown out of the Gate, and it was a Hell Gate 
for certain. 

It was a time start, no one-gun, in those days, 
ten minutes to get over the line. We started 
just on the last ebb, and all the fleet excepting 
our old packet got over, and with a light North- 
erly air stood over under Wards Island to get 
into the slack water. 

They did, and got becalmed there and drifted 
about in circles. Try our best we couldn’t get 
enough way on Eliza to get her across the line 
until some five minutes after the gun, then she 
drifted over stern first and started down the 
river. Old Waterbug was at the wheel and at- 


The Four and the Fire 


63 


tending to business, but the helm was about as 
much use as a tail is to a dead dog. 

We drifted down until we got past Mill Rock, 
and then slewed off over toward the end of 
Blackwells Island; here by some chance we got 
into an eddy which took us into the first of the 
flood making up toward Flood Rock, and pretty 
soon we were going all a-fluking upstream. The 
old man laid her broadsides to it and this gave 
the sloop enough way to steer, and off we sailed. 

The rest of the bunch were still becalmed in 
the slack water under the Island, and as we 
passed round the bend we waved them a good- 
by. Old Waterbug was all excited but he 
pushed it down and kept to his work. Off 
Woolseys Point we caught the first of a South- 
erly wind coming out of Bowery Bay, and Eliza 
took a heel and away she went. 

When we rounded the mark, the fleet was al- 
most out of sight behind us. The home leg was 
a reach as far as the Brothers, and we went 
through the bunch off Old Ferry Point. All 
hands cheered the old man as they passed and 
shouted more or less ironical words of encour- 
agement. Off Barettos Point the tide got pretty 
strong and Eliza began to check up, but Old 


64 


The Four and the Fire 


Waterbug knew every eddy, and we began to 
work 'em, going in among the rocks and skin- 
ning the points so as to keep out of the worst 
of the current-. But it was slow moving and 
the best of the fleet began to gain on us rapidly. 
It was just at this time that I made the overhasty 
remark that the old tub was overloaded, and if 
she could be lightened up we might win. 

The old man grasped the suggestion with a 
rush. 

“Cut away both anchors, boys," he yelled. 
“I'm going to win at any price." 

So we cut and let 'em go. Anchors in those 
days were heavy bits of furniture, and it light- 
ened her up forward considerably. 

“She's doing better," we yelled. 

“Go below and heave out the stuff forward," 
was the next command. 

“What stuff?" said I. 

“Anything ! anything ! everything !" shouted 
the old man, jumping up and down at the wheel. 

This was fun for us. Down we went, over- 
board went the stove, all the pans and kettles, a 
breaker of water, and other dunnage. When 
this was done we came aft again. 


The Four and the Fire 


65 


“That'll do," said the old man; but just then 
he spied the box of bottled stuff we had to drink 

“Over with that," he shouted. 

To this order the whole crew objected; we 
offered to drink and throw the bottles over. 

“No, no, over with it, I'll buy you more," he 
yelled; so over it went. 

The fleet continued to gain despite the sacri- 
fice, so we began to chuck the ballast, and by the 
time the tide slacked and we got through the 
Gate, Eliza was as empty as a tin buoy. But we 
crossed the line just in time, with Staghound's 
bowsprit over our taffrail and another boat not 
fifty feet astern. 

I never saw anybody so elated as the old man ; 
he jumped, laughed, sang and cried. Every- 
body but the crew of Staghound cheered him, 
and were delighted that he'd made a first finish 
at last. Staghound's owner, a mean sort of a 
chap, put in a protest, but several of the boys 
took him out behind the spar shed and laid down 
the common law to him. They told him how the 
old man had given for years in his open-handed 
way, how he tried to win, and taken defeat after 
defeat like a sport, and said that even if he had 
broken the rules he deserved to have this one 


66 


The Four and the Fire 


race as a reward for his perseverance and pluck, 
and ended up by telling Staghound's owner that 
if he persisted in pushing the protest they would 
make earth, air and water too hot to hold his 
carcass for the next twenty-four hours. 

The boys were kind of vehement about it be- 
cause they knew that if Old Waterbug was 
awarded the race, he would open up everything 
as wide as the hinges, whereas the Staghound 
man would buy himself and crew a drink and 
then go home. Well, it ended by the Staghound 
man withdrawing his protest, and Eliza got her 
prize. It was the longest and liveliest night the 
club ever saw. 

* * * 

“Here's Jack now," said Treport, as Stay- 
fast's voice was heard outside. Soon the gentle- 
man came blowing in through the door. 

“House of Lords in session," he said, as he 
shifted his coat and made for a chair by the fire. 
“Whose trick is it ?" 

“Yours," said Treport. “Commodore's just 
spun his wheel." 

“Not much, boys; I’m going to take a rest. 
My brain needs it. I’m completely knocked end- 
wise." 


The Four and the Fire 


67 


“Why, what’s up?” asked Bossington. 

“Nothing; that’s just what’s the trouble. I 
went there expecting to find everything up, and 
they are still at the frame. Such a job we had; 
took out every blame timber but two. There 
v/on’t be much more than a smell of the old boat 
left when we are finished. New bow, new stern, 
new midships; but it’s going to improve her 
speed if it doesn’t spoil her beauty. I’ll tell you 
all, I’ll be right up in front of the bunch next 
Summer. What say you, gentle friend Tred?” 

“Don’t believe in it. If I got married the 
second time, I’d want a new wife and new 
clothes. What you’re doing is like rigging out 
the new in the old one’s duds. Never saw a re- 
built boat that was worth a handful of clam 
shells.” 

“Well, that is a silly comparison. What simi- 
larity is there between remarriage and rebuild- 
ing, I’d like to know.” 

“Both acts of a fool,” said the Commodore. 
“But own up yourself, Jack, did you ever know 
a rebuilt boat to be worth anything?” 

“Yes, sir, I have.” 

“When and where?” 


68 


The Four and the Fire 


“Trap,” said Stay fast, “and I don’t fall in it. 
I told you I wouldn’t yarn to-night.” 

“Oh, come on, Jack,” prompted Treport. 

“Well, just hang up the card 'By Request,’ and 
give me a cigar, and I’ll tell you of a rebuilt boat 
that was a success ; and what’s more, there were 
two of them.” 



Stayfast’s Yarn 


Did you ever hear of a sandbagger that used 
to be knocking about here called Substance ? She 
was built by Willis over in Cow Bay, and was 
the smartest thing that ever took gravel to keep 
upon her legs. Her owner was a sporting gent 
named Calworthy, who lived down on the back 
side of Pelham Neck. He raced her for years 
against all comers for from $500 to $1,000 a race, 
and she never was fairly beaten. I guess as 
many as thirty boats were built purposely to 
beat her, but it was no go ; she did ’em all. When 
she wasn’t racing, the old man used to keep her 
locked up in a barn on his place, and never would 
let anybody go near her unless he was along. 

After a while she got kindy shaky and, after 
a talk with a boat-builder, old Calworthy decided 
to rebuild the boat. The builder was a fellow 
by name of Hawkins, or Grumpy Sam as he was 
called, to distinguish him from his only son, an- 
other Sam, who was known as Jolly Sam, for 
the stump-ended reason that he was more sour- 
faced and meaner than his cranky dad. 

Early in the Fall they started at the job, the 

69 


70 


The Four and the Fire 


two Hawkinses doing the work and Calworthy 
overseeing it. They were very tender about the 
dissection and no two better workmen than Sam 
and his son ever handled tools. They care- 
fully took off the plank and then one by one took 
the frames out, moulded a new one from the old 
and put it in. By this means they exactly dupli- 
cated the boat, so that when she was replanked 
you couldn't tell her from herself that had been. 

When they got through with the job, young 
Sam asked Calworthy if he could have the old 
stuff for firewood, and he gave it to him, so Jolly 
Sam carted it off- The next Spring Calworthy 
was out looking for blood, but nothing came 
along until some time in June, when he had a 
challenge from a man up somewhere in Con- 
necticut offering to match his sloop against Sub- 
stance for $1,000 a side. 

They met and arranged the race to come off 
in a week, best two out of three. The name of 
the challenging boat was Shadow. Well, the 
morning of the race Calworthy sent his boat 
around here all up in fine shape with a crew of 
ten rigged out in red shirts, and fifty bags for 
ballast, and he drove over in his team. When 
he got down to the dock he saw the sloop lying 


The Four and the Fire 


7 1 


along the float, and went down to have a word 
with his skipper. There was one man in the 
boat. 

“Where’s Bill?” says Calworthy. 

Bill was the skipper’s name. 

“Darned if I know,” says the fellow. “Bill 
who ?” 

“Bill Smith, my skipper,” says the old man, 
kind of irritated. 

“How in h — 1 should I know,” says the fel- 
low ; then he added, with a grin, “This ain’t your 
boat.” 

“Not my boat?” 

“No,” says the fellow; “there’s your boat off 
there,” and he pointed to Substance just com- 
ing round the point. 

Old Calworthy looked first at one and then at 
the other, then he slapped his thigh and says, 
“Well, I’ll be d d.” 

The two boats were exactly alike, you couldn’t 
tell them apart for money ; and when they meas- 
ured ’em up, they both came out exactly the 
same, twenty-seven feet, two and three-quarter 
inches* 

Calworthy was too good a sport to say any- 
thing, and they started the boats. The race was 


72 


The Four and the Fire 


ten miles to windward and back, and you can 
guess it was a pretty one. 

They went down the wind together, turned the 
stake together, and all the way up the wind stuck 
as close to each other as two love-birds on a 
perch; about a quarter of a mile from the finish 
they split tacks trying to break apart, and fin- 
ished on different boards, but despite all the 
skippers could do they made a dead heat of it 
— Substance on the port and Shadow on the 
starboard, crossing exactly at the same second. 
Of course, this bred a row, both crews got drunk 
and fought it out ashore. The fight was a draw. 

They sailed the other two races with the same 
result, both dead heats ; and then Old Calworthy 
and the owner of Shadow had a row, and the 
former accused the latter of stealing the model 
of his boat, and pulled out of the challenge. 

After a time the insides of the thing came out. 
It seems that young Sam took the old frame up 
home and then, thinking there might be some- 
thing in it, was foxy enough to hunt up the Con- 
necticut fellow and put up the job between them 
of building a boat over the old timbers and chal- 
lenging Substance. 


* * * 


The Four and the Fire 


73 


“Which all goes to prove that rebuilt boats 
are some good after all, eh, Tred?” 

“In yarns, yes,” said the Commodore. “When 
did you manufacture that, coming down on the 
train ?” 

“Now, look here, Tred, I never question either 
your veracity or your memory, and want you 
to respect mine. I didn't insist upon telling that 
story, did I?” 

“No, you didn't.” 

“Well, then, don't look at the label on a bottled 
present.” 

“But, really, wasn't there any difference be- 
tween those boats?” asked Bossington. “There 
surely must have been some.” 

“No, Bossy, not a diff. We weighed 'em on 
the scales and they weighed within two ounces 
of each other, that difference probably being due 
to the more lavish use of paint on one of them. 
Probably a slip of the brush.” 



Night Two — Calworthy , owner of Substance. 


Treport's Story 


Talking about sandbaggers, a funny thing 
happened to me once when sailing one. I owned 
a 20- footer called Huhu. It was the second boat 
I ever had, and I was at that time green, quite 
green, but thought I was a great sailor and that 
my craft was fast. This idea made me get into 
every race that came within twenty miles of me. 
I never won anything, but learned a lot that has 
been valuable to me since. One day I had her 
enlisted for a race, but two of my crew did not 
show up, leaving me short-handed. We waited 
at the float until the last minute, but nobody 
came; at last just as we were going to shove 
off, Lunt Smith came running down with a 
husky-looking chap in tow, whom he shouted 
was a good hand and willing to go along. The 
fellow jumped aboard and took the main-sheet 
in a way that looked like knowing his business, 
so I left him there. 

We got to the line just as the gun exploded 
and over we went It was blowing a ripping 
Nor' wester, and getting harder the further we 

75 


76 


The Four and the Fire 


ran off land. There were four of us in a bunch 
with our booms broad off, and all we could 
stagger under. Skoog was on my weather bow, 
Yado on my lee quarter, and another boat whose 
name I don't remember close behind. This put 
me in a bad box when we got down near the 
mark, as we had to gybe round it. 

My only chance was to let Skoog get ahead 
enough, so I could gybe under her stern, so I 
yelled to take in the main-sheet. I was busy 
with the helm trying to keep clear of the other 
boats for a second or two, then looked round and 
not a move was the sheet-man making. 

“Come aft with that sheet!" I yelled. 

Not a move. 

Before I could utter another syllable we were 
at the mark and, in order to prevent the boom 
fouling it, had to gybe all standing. Bang ! 
over went the sail and over went the boat. 

When I got up on the side and had rinsed the 
water out of my eyes and mouth, I looked for 
the main-sheet man. He was sitting serenely 
beside me, nothing wet but his feet. I opened on 
him, I shouted at him, yelled at him, called him 
every kind of a fool, cursed him until I was 
breathless, then the crew took an inning, and 


The Four and the Fire 


77 


gave him ballyhoo. We were all three mad clear 
to the roots of our hair. 

What riled us most was that he never an- 
swered back or attempted in any way to explain 
himself. Any man might feel bad enough to 
keep silent after capsizing a boat, but under a 
fire of such language it was inhuman*. At last 
we got tired of cursing and reviling him and 
shut up, all hands hanging on in glum silence. 

Pretty soon Lunt came up in his sloop and 
picked us off. When we got straightened out 
and Huhu in tow, he asked me how it happened. 

“Why,” said I, “that darn fool you put aboard 
let her gybe with the main-sheet way off. I 
yelled to him two minutes before we got to the 
mark to trim it down, and the darn idiot never 
pulled in a foot.” 

At this Lunt began to roar ; this made me mad 
and I yelled at him: 

“What are you laughing at, you blamed old 
fool?” 

“Hollered to him, did yer? Blamed if that ain't 
a good one! Why, he's deaf and dumb.” 

* * * 

“Well, so will I be if I stay here much longer, 
boys ; so home for me,” said Stayfast, getting up. 


78 


The Four and the Fire 


“ When’s the next meeting, Jack?” inquired 
Bossington. 

“Don’t know, Bossy; depends on how the 
wind blows. Just now it is decidedly East with 
me. 

“What do the doctors say, Jack?” asked Tre- 
port. 

“Same old thing: must give up tobacco and 
rum, go to bed early, and get up late, not read 
the newspapers or eat cabbage. Pretty soon 
they’ll tell me not to think. But I’ll be down 
here the first of the month sure. So good-night 
to you, boys.” 



Night Two- “Come aft with that sheet . 


NIGHT THREE 





Night Three — “ They're all spiled 


NIGHT THREE 


“I am as bilious as an oyster," remarked Stay- 
fast, as he sat down between Bossington and 
Treport. 

“I never knew oysters suffered from that com- 
plaint, ^ " said Bossington. 

“You didn't, Bossy? Well, let me tell you 
that you are decidedly weak in your natural 
history. If you'd made a study of these things 
as I have you would know that for its size the 
oyster has the largest liver of any living crea- 
ture, and what's more to the point it's always 
out of order." 

“How about clams?" asked Treport. 

“Different again. Their weak point is the 
heart; the clam suffers from vulvular enlarge- 
ment of that organ." 

“Then I suppose the expression, ‘don't be a 
clam' really means ‘don't have a big heart,' " 
suggested Treport. 

“Right you are, boy; but as Bill Van Dam 
used to say ‘some oysters knows more than them 
that catches 'em thinks they do,' and Bill ought 

81 


8 2 


The Four and the Fire 


to have known, for he'd drudged thousands of 
bushels in his day." 

“Who was Bill Van Dam, Jack?" asked Boss- 
ington. 

“Bill Van Dam was a living exemplification of 
the fallacy of veracity. He was the smartest 
oysterman and the biggest liar that ever sailed 
the Sound. I knew him for years and have had 
many a day's sport with him. He was a great 
hand for finding new beds, and working them 
on the quiet. I remember one time he found a 
fat pocket and raked half a dozen loads out of 
it before the rest of the crowd caught on. He 
used to go out at night and come back to anchor 
before daylight, but at last somebody spotted 
him coming in and they determined to follow and 
find out where his new-found lode was. So one 
dark night Bill made sail and two sloops fol- 
lowed him, but Van Dam saw them and instead 
of going to the bed, stood over to a place he knew 
to be full of rocks, and there he chucks over his 
drudge and pretends to drag, but never goes to 
the bottom at all. The fellows in the other 
sloops get the bearing of the spot and go home. 
The next night out they went and begin drudgin' 
and both of them lose their gear, and never get 


The Four and the Fire 


83 


a darned oyster. They kept still for a couple of 
days, then one of 'em comes up to Bill and says : 

“Say, Bill, what was yer drudgin' fer off the 
Old Hen t'other night?" 

“How'd you know I was a-drudgin’ out 
there?" asks Van Dam. 

“Me and Ef Smith seen yer," says the fellow. 

“The h — 1 yer did!" says Bill; then he takes 
the fellow one side and says, “Yer won't tell no 
one, will yer, if I tell yer?" The fellow prom- 
ised. 

“Well, then, I'll tell yer; I was drudgin' fer 
failin' stars." 

“Failin' stars!" says the fellow. 

“Yes," says Bill, “failin' stars; I seen two of 
'em drop into the water off there, and I made 
sure I could get 'em." 

“And did ye, Bill?" 

“Certainly," says Bill, “a male and female ; and 
I've sold 'em to Bamum, the showman, for five 
hundred dollars apiece." 

* * * 

“Do you suppose they were meteorites he 
found?" asked Bossington. 

“No, Bossy, they were real, genuine stars that 


8 4 


The Four and the Fire 


had dropped out of the constellation of the 
Lyre.” 

“Wasn’t Bill the oysterman that sailed the devil 
across the Sound, Jack?” asked Treport. 

“So I’ve heard tell, but if you know the yarn, 
why, spin it.” 

“I don’t,” said Treport; “but I’ve heard he 
did«. How was it?” 



Stayfast's Yarn 


Well, it was way back in the war times, and Bill 
was mixed up in some underhand jobs that had 
something to do with deserting and bounty- jump- 
ing. There were recruiting stations on Davids 
and Harts Islands, and thousands of soldiers 
used to be stationed there waiting to be drafted 
to the front. Lots of them got away and the 
boatmen used to run them ashore, getting fifty 
and a hundred dollars a head for the job. It 
seems Bill's house was a kind of hiding-hole for 
these deserters, where they used to lie snug until 
they could get back to New York or wherever 
they wanted to go. Men were getting big boun- 
ties in those days for enlisting and substituting. 
I know one man who paid $1,000 for a sub- 
stitute, and the fellow deserted but was caught 
and shot. Van Dam himself got a bullet 
through his wrist while pulling a boat away 
from Davids Island with a deserter in it. 

But to the yarn : One night in the Fall of the 
year when it was blowing and sleeting, Bill was 
waked up by somebody hammering on his door. 

85 


86 


The Four and the Fire 


Thinking it was a deserter wanting shelter, his 
son having been out on that business, Van 
Dam got up and went down to the door. 
Opening on the crack he looked out and found a 
tall man standing on the step with a big black 
sack beside him. 

“Are you Bill Van Dam?” asked the stranger, 
before Bill could say a word. 

“That's my name,” says Bill. “Won't yer 
come in?” 

“No,” says the stranger. “I'm in a great 
hurry to get across the Sound-. Will you take 
me?” 

“Not to-night,” says Bill. “ 'Tain't fit fer no 
boat to be out to-night.” 

“I'm the best judge of that,” says the stranger. 
“What will you charge?” 

“I can’t go,” says Bill. “Like to 'blige ye, 
but this here wind is dead ahead.” 

“Don’t let that worry you,” says the stranger; 
“I’ll attend to the wind. What will you charge?” 

“I won’t go,” says Bill again, “not fer fifty 
dollars.” 

“Yes, you will,” says the stranger. “Come!” 
and he grasped Van Dam by the arm, and pulled 
him outside the door. 


The Four and the Fire 


8 7 


As Bill used to say when telling the story, “I 
didn’t have no more to say; he just made me 
toiler him an’ I didn’t have no more fight in me 
than a dead lobster. When we come down to 
the shore he says : 

“ Where’s yer sloop?” 

“Off there,” says I, p’intin’ to where she was 
ankered. 

“All right,” says the stranger; “git into that 
skift an’ row out.” 

“So we got into the skift an’ I took the oars. 
Well, darn me, ef in two strokes we wasn’t 
alongside Amanda, and I thinks to myself 'she’s 
been a-draggin’, it’s lucky I come/ but when I 
looks round I see she’s just where I left her 
day afore yisterday ! 

“Git yer sail up,” says the stranger ; an’ do yer 
know I daresn’t say nothin’ but goes to work to 
reef her mainsail an’ bob the jib. 

“Put the whole of it onto her,” says the man. 

“She won’t carry it,” says L Gee, it was 
a-blowin’ an’ I know’d pretty well what that 
sloop would carry. 

“That’s my consarn,” says the stranger. So 
I hoists the sails an’ they was a-slattin’ around. 
“Well,” says I, “she’ll either upsot or blow them 


88 


The Four and the Fire 


sails away,” but she done neither. As soon as 
she payed off I hauled her to the wind agin to 
make a tack, so as to clear the p’int. 

“Keep her closer,” says the stranger. 

“She won’t go no nigher,” says I. 

“That’s my consarn,” says the stranger. 

“All right,” says I, and I luffs her right into 
it Well, darn me, ef she didn’t keep right on 
agoin’ like a steamboat right clean into the 
wind’s eye. Bye and bye I begins to git skeered 
fust thing she’d fetch up clean into somebody’s 
back lot an’ do some smashing things, so I says, 
“We’d better shorten her down,” I says, “she’s 
goin’ pretty speedy.” 

“This ain’t no Long Island Railroad,” says he, 
“and darn me ef it wur.” Bye and bye, he says, 
“That’ll do,” and with that we stops right dead 
still. I couldn’t see no land nor nothin’ it was 
that dark, but I seen my friend right enough ; he 
was all over this here phosphor like a bunch of 
seaweed when the water’s full of that there stuff. 
Then I knowed just who an’ what he were. 
Darn me ef I wasn’t skeered- 

“Here’s yer pay,” says he, shovin’ a coin into 
my hand, “an’ while yer keep it, says he, ye’ll 
never want a dollar;” an’ then there came a clap 


The Four and the Fire 


89 


of thunder an’ lightnin' an’ he was gone. Gee, 
but how it did smell of burnt matches ! But just 
as he went a puff struck the sloop an’ she heeled 
right to the cabin-house an' took a shoot, and 
before I could holler Jerusalem, was up high 
and dry on the beach. 

“The next mornin’ I looked for the coin he 
gave me an’ found it. It was a silver dollar an’ 
looked all good, so I goes ashore, the town being 
Bridgeport, an’ being hungry stops into a place 
to get something to eat. I was feelin' kind of 
sore when I got over my skeer at havin' been 
brought over that far an' not gettin' but a dol- 
lar fur my trouble. So I says to h — 1 with his 
dollar an' gives it to the man what kept the eatin' 
place. He looks at it, an' says, T ain't seen one 
of them in a year fer all the money was paper 
then, shinplasters, we called 'em. When I gets 
back to the sloop an' gets her off an' p'inted fur 
home, I puts my hand into my pocket to get my 
knife an’ feels a coin ; I pulled it out an' darn me 
if it weren't that there dollar. I spent it, an' 
it'd come back to me, every time." 

When Bill got this far in his story he would 
always make a long pause until somebody would 
ask him if he still had the coin. 


90 


The Four and the Fire 


“Wuss luck, I lost it; at least, my woman did 
fer me. I left it in my Sunday clothes to hum, 
an’ a peddler come to the house a-sellin’ things 
an' my woman goes up an’ gits the dollar an’ 



buys something from the peddler an’ I never 
seen it again.” 

“What did she buy, Bill?” 

“A prayer book.” 

* * * 

“It’s queer,” remarked Treport, after Stay fast 


The Four and the Fire 


9i 


had finished his story, “what a lot of these 
devil's tales there are knocking about; you hear 
them everywhere. Most of them seem to run 
in the same vein, and what seems to me to be 
silly, because they always restrict his traveling 
abilities, so that he has to solicit the help of hu- 
mans to get about." 

“Certainly they do," explained Stayfast, “be- 
cause the minute the devil takes human shape 
and discards his hoofs and horns he is just as 
limited in his modes of locomotion as any other 
animal. He can't fly and walk, and if he can fly 
he can't swim." 

“There's no sense in that argument, Jack," 
said the Commodore. 

“No sense! and pray why not?" 

“Because some animals can do all those things. 
For instance, a duck can fly, swim and walk and 
dive too." 

“Well, suppose it can; who's talking about 
ducks ?" 

“Nobody was." 

“Yes, you were; you were trying to compare 
the devil to a duck." 

“No, I wasn't; I was just trying to strengthen 
your argument" 


92 


The Four and the Fire 


“Strengthen my argument; well, I tell you I 
know more about the devil and all the rest of 
his tribe than you ever will so long as you live," 
said Stayfast. 

“Don't doubt it; if anybody should be on a 
familiar footing with the father of lies you are 
surely the man." 

“Now you’re getting personal, Tred; you never 
can argue without bringing personalities into the 
talk. I can argue with a man for a week and 
never have to mention anything of a personal 
nature. What the deuce makes you so grouchy 
to-night? Liver out of order?" 

“Don’t be an ass, Jack." 

“Come, come, Stayfast," said Treport, “let’s 
drop the devil and the duck." 

“Drop them, certainly; but I’m going home. 
The Commodore’s got an elbow in his hawse and 
nothing that a man can say seems to please him. 
Here we are three gentlemen sitting in front of 
the fire discussing the elevating topic of demon- 
ology, discussing it in a gentlemanly, philosophic 
and quiet manner when he breaks in with some 
rot about ducks. I’m going home." 

“Oh, take another drink," says the Commo- 


The Four and the Fire 


93 


dore, sticking his hands in his pockets and yawn- 
ing back in his chair. 

“I wasn't addressing my remarks to you." 

The Commodore's only reply to this was to 
give a grunt and a kick at the butt end of one 
of the logs in the fire. 

Then he said after a pause, “I knew Bill Van 
Dam." 

“Did you, Commodore?" said Bossington. 

“Yes, years before Jack here did. In fact, I 
knew him all my life, until he died* I was born 
in the same town that he lived in over on Long 
Island. I've heard hundreds of his yams and if 
Jack will sit down, and apologize for his late 
rudeness, I'll tell one of them." 

“I will if you will withdraw your remarks 
about the ducks." 

“You ought to, Commodore," put in Treport. 
“That was a fowl blow." 

“Round of drinks on you, Treport, you know 
the rule!" said the Commodore. 

“With pleasure, if you two will shake hands 
and make friends." 

“Here's my hand, Jack," says the Commodore, 
offering his flipper. 


94 


The Four and the Fire 


“Here’s mine, Tred, and a long life to the 
devil!” 

“And the ducks,” added the Commodore. 
“Yes, and the ducks too. Now for the story.” 



Night Three — “ She worked fust-class 


The Commodore's Story 


Talking about ducks put me in mind of this 
yarn of Bill's. A good many years ago one time 
late in the Fall we went on a gunning trip to the 
Chesapeake, and as Van Dam was a first-class 
duck-hunter as well as a good sailor we took him 
along to handle the schooner. There were four 
of us in the party — Harry Russell, Slip Fenner, 
me and my brother George. When we got out- 
side the Hook it came on to blow from the East- 
'ard and looking nasty we put back and anchored 
in the Horseshoe. That same morning a topsail 
schooner and a half-brig came in and let go near 
us; they were bound to Boston from some West 
India port and ran in for shelter. 

Along in the afternoon my brother and Slip 
took the boat and went on board of them ; when 
they came back they brought along a dozen co- 
coanuts, the vessel being loaded with them. After 
supper we were all sitting in the cabin smoking, 
it raining hard outside, and Harry Russell had 
one of the nuts broken open eating it. Bill Van 
Dam came and stood in the doorway leading for- 

95 


96 


The Four and the Fire 


ward and asked if we had any smoking tobacco. 
Slip gave him a handful and then Harry asked 
him if he would have some cocoanut. 

“No, thank yer, Harry,” says Bill, “I never eat 
them things. Leastway I ain't eat none since I 
was whalin'.” 

“How's that, Bill?” says Slip. 

“Well, ye see, Slip,” says Bill, “I had a suf- 
ficiency of 'em wonct, seein' as I didn't eat 
nothin’ else fer 'bout six months.” 

“Eat nothing but cocoanuts for six months, 
Bill! How was that?” asked Slip. 

“Well, ef yer don't mind my sittin' down along 
with ye I'll tell ye how it came about; I've got 
the rheumatis in this here knee of mine an' it 
don't do it no good to be stood on.” 

“Come in, Bill,” said I, making room for the 
old man on the transom. 

So Bill sat down and spun this yarn: 

When I were 'bout Mr. Russell's age or maybe 
a bit younger I shipped board a whaler out of 
New London, that’s my native place. We lived 
next door to the capen of her, his name wur 
Jonathan Sturgis, his woman being a cousin of 
my father’s, but we always called her Aunt Saree, 
though as I'm tellin’ ye she wern't no aunt to 


The Four and the Fire 


97 


none of us. The bark was named after her, 
Saree Sturgis; I disremember her tonnage, but 
she was a big lump of a vessel for them days an’ 
slower than friz molasses. 

Capen Jonathan when he was to hum was all 
that a man oughter be, goin’ regular to meetin’ 
Sundays an’ talkin’ pious right along, but them 
as went to sea with him ’lowed he was a regular 
rip-rorer. But my folks wouldn’t hear nothin’ 
bad ’bout Capen Jonathan. Sailors’ lies, that’s 
what they called ’em. My father was a cooper 
makin’ casks for these here whalers, an’ the Cap- 
tain give him his work, somethin’ that shuts 
many a good seein’ eye to the faults of them that 
brings it. 

When I was growed up pretty well the Cap- 
tain comes hum from a vy’ge, an’ he says to 
father, “Yer better let Bill go along with me nex’ 
vy’ge, and I’ll make a man of him,” says he. 

“I need him ’round the shop,” says father, “but 
ef he wants ter go with ye, Jonathan, I might 
spare him. I’ll talk to mother ’bout it.” 

Well, hearin’ that puts it into my head to go, 
so I just plagues father and mother ’til they 
gives in an’ off I goes a-whalin’, to the South 
Seas. 


98 


The Four and the Fire 


When we was fittin’ out in the river, I was 
about the bark workin’ along with the carpenters 
an’ riggers, an’ Capen Jonathan was fust-class; 
it was Billy do this, an’ Billy do that, and the 
mate, a man by name of Morning, was just as 
perlite as a politicion on ’lection day. But when 
we got through the Race an’ on the back side of 
Long Island the tune was changed. Such swearin’ 
and hollerin’ an’ laminin’ I never did see. In 
’bout two days that there bark was h — 1 afloat, 
an’ I wished myself back in the shop ’long with 
dad. 

We took lots of the casks out in the staves, 
bundles of ’em, an’ the carpenter an’ me had to 
put ’em together as they was wanted. I was do- 
in’ cooper’s work an’ gettin’ boy’s pay, three 
dollars a month. Then I seen through the old 
man’s game. He was makin’ a man of me an’ 
no mistake. 

“Did you ever put a cask together, Mr. Slope?” 

“No, Bill,” said I, “I never did.” 

“Well, it does take practice. I seen the time 
though when I could set up an’ hoop twenty of 
’em between daylight an’ dark, gettin’ ten cents 
apiece, an’ a boy to help at the winch. I hear 
tell they make ’em by machinery now, but in them 


The Four and the Fire 


99 


days we done it all by hand. Hogsheads, casks 
and barrels, I’ve made thousands of ’em.” 

“How about the cocoanuts, Bill?” interrupted 
Slip. 

“I’m coming to that, Slip.” 

“Well, we fished around them South Seas fer 
two years most, stoppin’ at all kinds of places, 
mostly islands alive with niggers, an’ done fust- 
class* The old man knew his business just the 
same as I do hoysterin’, an’ there ain’t nobody 
can learn me much about that, is there, Mr. 
Slope ?” 

“I guess not, Bill,” I said. 

“I disremember how many fish we caught, but 
there was a sight of them, an’ we sent hum a 
lot of ile in a fellow that hailed from Sag Harbor, 
that was bound hum, when one day we’d been 
after a fish an’ lost it, an’ the old man was tearin’ 
mad. He an’ the mate had a fight on the poop, 
an’ when they got through the mate sends me 
into the bote that was towing astern after some 
of the gear. It was kind o’ misty-like, you see 
them low fogs oftentimes in them waters. I gets 
into the bote an’ fusses about tryin’ to make the 
job last, when I looks up to hail the bark to haul 


L.OFC. 


IOO 


The Four and the Fire 


me up under her stern an’ gee whitaker she ain’t 
there. 

Some durn haymaker had made the painter 
fast an’ it had slipped an’ the bote was adrift. 
Whalin’ men is used to being in botes ; they ain’t 
like them in marchant vessels, so I wasn’t skeered, 
knowin’ the old man would never let the bote go 
if lookin’ fer it would find it, so I lay down an’ 
took a sleep. 

It come on to blow in the night, an’ when I 
woke up she was driftin’ like blazes afore it. 
Nex’ mornin’ it come clear an’ I couldn’t see 
hide nor hair of the bark, so I got the sail up an’ 
lets her run an’ in two days come to one of them 
coral islands. I seen the cocoanut trees a-stickin’ 
up out of the water an’ steered for it. 

When I came right to it I seen there was a 
reef round it, the sea breaking over them rocks 
like mad, an’ I says, “It’s all up with you, Bill 
Van Dam, unless there’s a hole somewhere here- 
abouts.” Most of them reefs has a hole through 
’em. Well, there wem’t no hole that I could 
find an’ she goes onto the reef, and smashes all 
to kindlin’ ! Just as she struck I grabs a couple 
of oars an’ ’fore I knew it was into the water 
t’other side of the reef, then I swum ashore. 


The Four and the Fire 


IOI 


I got bruised pretty considerable, an’ felt bad, 
an’ crawled up on the sand an’ lay in the sun 
to dry. Then I looked fer something to eat 
There wern’t nothin’ on that island but cocoa- 
nuts and crabs, these here big crabs that eats 
cocoanuts, breaks ’em open an’ eats ’em. 
They’ll pick up a nut in each claw an’ knock ’em 
together until they splits. They’ve got claws 
on ’em big enough to take a man’s leg off. I 
had more trouble than enough with them crabs. 

After a while them crabs got to know what 
I was after an’ they followed me ’bout like a 
flock of hens, an’ when I’d throw down the 
nuts, off they’d go with ’em. Many’s the time 
I’ve been settin’ up in one of them trees eatin’ 
a green nut an’ seen a couple o’ hundred of 
them crabs a-settin’ ’bout the tree on their starns 
a-lookin’ up waitin’ fer me to throw ’em down 
a nut. They was dangersome to each other ; fit 
like dogs over a bone. 

I got pretty tired of that eatin’, let me tell 
yer, an’ went a-huntin’ oysters on the reefs. 
There was plenty of ’em, extras begosh, that 
it was all one man could lift. They wasn’t worth 
nothin’ to eat but I found lots of pearls into 


102 


The Four and the Fire 


’em, so I goes to pearl fishin’ an’ got most two 
quarts. 

Bye an’ bye I growed pretty tired of stoppin” 
on that there island, an’ I makes up my mind 
I’ve got to get away somehow, when one day 
I was a-watchin’ the crabs rollin’ the ripe nuts 
’bout an’ one of ’em goes overboard an’ floats 
off; when I seen that nut floatin’ an idee come 
to me: Says I, “Bill, if one of them nuts ’ill 
float, so will a hundred of ’em an’ you on top,” 
says I. 

Over on one side of the island the soil was 
a bit stifflsh, kind of clay-like, an’ nigh onto 
it was a spring of this here sticky black stuff, 
nateral tar, I calls it. So fust I gathered all the 
nuts I could find, an’ took ’em over to that tar 
spring an’ plugged ’em good an’ tight, then I 
digs a hole in the clay nigh to the water the 
shape of a bote, an’ fills it up with them nuts, 
then I digs a trench an’ lets the tar run into the 
hole till it fills up clear to the top. Then I 
leaves it to get hard ; when she’d hardened good 
an’ fast I dug her out, smoothed down the 
bottom an’ topsides an’ she looked right fine. 
Then I made a sail out of palm leaves an’ put 


The Four and the Fire 


103 


her overboard for a trial. She worked fust- 
class. 

After I got nuts an’ water aboard I sot sail 
an' left the island to the crabs. 'Bout a week 
after, I seen the bark hove-to. I knowed her 
to once an' laid up for her. They was just 
gettin' thro' tryin' out, an' did not see me till 
I came pretty nigh to 'em, then I seen they seen 
me, All hands was hangin' over the rail ex- 
ceptin' the old man an' the mate, they was aft 
on the poop, spyin' at me thro' the glass. Bye 
an' bye I come pretty close an' Dutch Ike, the 
carpenter, hollers out, “Dat's Bill;" then you 
ought to hear them yell. 

I was lookin' pretty raggerty, nothin' left of 
my pants but the waist-band an' pockets, an’ 
my shirt was hangin' down my back like a bunch 
of reef p'ints, an' I had a hat made of cocoanut 
leaves. I was a sight fer crows to skeer at. 

I luffs up close under the bark's stern when 
the old man hangs over the rail an' begins to 
curse me like mad. 

“Where's the bote you stole," he says. 

“I didn't steal no bote," I says; “it stole me." 

“You lie," he says; “you deserter, you slab 
sided son-of-a-gun, stole my best bote, after me 


104 


The Four and the Fire 


treatin’ yer like a son. I’ll take it out of your 
lay, darn ye ungrateful hound, yer can’t come 
aboard here no more,” he says. 

“Don’t want to,” says I, bearing off a bit long 
her side. “That bark ain’t no place fer a decent 
man,” says I, “with yer rottin’ horse an’ mouldy 
bread; I’ve been livin’ too high to want ter jine 
yer again, Capen Jonathan,” says I. 

“Yer a liar!” says he, “livin’ high;” an’ he 
laughs an’ they all laughs. “Yer look like it, 
ye darn skeercrow; git away from my ship or 
I’ll sink you an’ yer tub,” says he. 

“Yer think yer own the ocean, don’t yer,” says 
I. “But I’ve more in them two pockets than 
’d buy you an’ yer old packet twenty times over,” 
and I slapped the pearls. With this they all 
gives a big guffaw. 

“Get to h — 1 out of here,” says the old man, 
when they got through a-laughin’. “I’ll tell 
yer father ’bout how you’ve treated me, stealin’ 
my bote an’ desertin’ yer ship.” 

“Will ye?” says I. “An’ I’ll tell Aunt Saree 
’bout you carryin’ on with them gals down 
Christmas Island; I’ll give it to them right in 
meetin’,” says I. 

When I says that all hands for’ard busted 


The Four and the Fire 


105 

right out laughin', and the mate he couldn't 
hold in, so pulls a pin an' jumps down in the 
waist an' hollers, “Git to yer work, ye dogs !" and 
the fellows draws back from the rail a bit, when 
the old man calls kind o' quiet like, “Mr. Morn- 
ing," and the mate turns round an' goes aft 
again. He an' the old man talks a bit under 
the spanker boom, an' then the old man goes be- 
low, the mate comes to the side an' says: 

“You can come aboard, Billy." 

“Thank yer," says I, “but I ain't cornin'. All 
I wants is my clothes an’ the course for Wala- 
perazer an' I'll bid yer good-day," says L 

“Yer duds has been vendued, Bill," says Bos- 
ting George. “I bought yer cote but ye can have 
it and the rest of 'em 'lowed I could have what 
was left of my duds, so I ses, “Bring 'em on, 
boys, an' I'll pay yer back whatever ye've been 
logged for 'em." 

Then they looks at the mate and he says, 
“Give him his clothes, but don't none of yer 
give him no stores." 

“Come alongside, Bill," says Bosting George, 
and I shoves in under the fore-chains. 

They brought me my cote an' pants an' a pair 
o' sea-boots, an' Dutchy, the carpenter, says, 


io6 


The Four and the Fire 


“Bill, here's my iler;” an' I takes it an' feels 
something done up in it an' knowed right away 
it was a bote's compass. When they got through 
passin' them things, I says, “Here, boys, here's 
something to take to the gals to hum,” and gives 
each of 'em a handful of pearls out of my pocket. 
You oughter seen their eyes when they seen 
'em. 

“What's he got there, carpenter?” sings out 
the mate. 

“Pearls, sir,” says the carpenter. 

With that the mate comes sneaking forward 
to have a look. 

“What's the course for Walaperazer, Mr. 
Morning?” says I, as he comes up and joins the 
crowd hanging over the rail. 

“Better come aboard, Bill,” says he. 

“No, thank yer,” says I. “I've got my belly- 
ful of whalin' an' I'm goin' home to set up fer 
a gentleman.” 

“What on?” says the mate. 

“On what these 'll fetch me,” says I, shaking 
a handful of pearls in my palm and then lettin' 
'em stream from hand to hand like as if they 
was dried peas. 


The Four and the Fire 


107 


“Where’d you get 'em, Bill?" asks the mate, 
eyeing them like a house afire. 

I just jerked my thumb over my shoulder 
astern. 

“Bill, come aboard an' see the old man about 
it; he won't tech you." 

“I ain't goin' to give him no chance to," says 
I. “What's the course to Walaperazer, Mr. 
Morning? Let me have that an' I'll bid yer 
good-day." 

“East by Sou'," says he, “about, and it's nigh 
onto two thousand miles. Better come aboard, 
Bill," says he, “you'll never make it in that craft 
of yourn.” 

“Wal," says I, “I'm goin' to have a slap at it 
anyway, an' here," says I, reachin' him up a 
dozen or two pearls, “here's somethin' fer yer 
wimminfolks to hum." 

“Thankee, Bill," says he, “an' I wish yer 
luck." 

Then I left 'em. 

When I got to Walaperazer there was quite a 
time over my bote, crowds come down to see it 
an’ a feller bought it off me for fifty dollars, an’ 
put a tent over it an' exhibitioned her, an' he 
made quite a wad. I didn't have no sense to do 


io8 


The Four and the Fire 


that, but went around havin’ a good sailor’s 
time. A feller I met says to me, you ought to 
sell them pearls, says he, before they spile, I 
didn’t know nothin’ about pearls spilin’, so I says, 
guess I had. So he says, I know a feller what 
will buy ’em. So we went to see the feller. He 
was a Jew, a mean-lookin’ little cuss with a nose 
onto his face like the beak on a crowbird. 

“They’re all spiled,” says he, after lookin’ the 
lot over ; “every one of ’em’s gone bad,” he says. 
“They ain’t no use to me.” 

You jest bet when I heard that I was spiled 
to, but I bucks up a bit an’ says, “They looks all 
right.” 

“That’s just it,” he says, “but they’re gone soft 
in the middle; the whole lot ain’t worth an old 
shoe.” 

“All right,” says I ; then I picks up the lot and 
puts ’em back in the bag. 

Just then the feller that’s with me, says to the 
Jew, “Can’t you give him something fer ’em?” 

Well, the Jew fust he says, “No,” then he kind 
of lets up a bit, an’ bye and bye after a lot of 
talk, I takes twenty-five dollars, half in slops 
and half in cash for the lot, an’ dam me if I 



Night Three — “ They was dangerous to each other ; fit like dogs over a bone. 



no 


The Four and the Fire 


didn’t hear afterwards that there Jew sold ’em 
for fifty thousand dollars. 

* * * 

“What did you do with the twelve-fifty, Bill ?” 
asked Fenner. 

“Rummed it all in, Slip, and got into the jug 
afore sunrise. When I came out the man that 
was exhibitioning my boat hired me to stand 
around and lecter to the folks for a dollar a day. 

“When I got through with that I shipped 
aboard a Boston bark an’ come home, an’ I ain’t 
eat no cocoanuts since. Well, I’ll bid yez all 
good-night,” and Bill Van Dam went for'ard. 

After Bill had gone Fenner went up on the 
deck and I shortly followed him. Slip was lean- 
ing against the main rigging sorrowfully watch- 
ing the twin lights on the Highlands* After a 
spell he turned and seeing me, said, with a sigh, 
“Tred, just kick me, kick me good and hard.” 
And I did. 


* * * 

“Fenner had an idea he was a pretty good liar 
himself, hadn’t he, Commodore?” asked Treport. 
“Well, he was, and came pretty near being in 


The Four and the Fire 


hi 


the same class with Van Dam; but I never met 
but one man that was Bill’s equal.” 

“Who was that, Commodore?” inquired Boss- 
ington. 

The Commodore turned and looked over his 
shoulder at Stay fast. Jack was lying back in 
his chair, his eyes half-closed, pipe out, and his 
heels thrust into the gray edges of the live coals. 

Treport and Bossington laughed, as the Com- 
modore, ignoring the question, got up, put on 
his coat and saying good-night left the house. 

“Tred gone?” asked Stayfast, pretending to 
wake up. 

“Yes,” said Bossington. 

“A fine fellow is Tred,” said Stayfast; after a 
contemplative pause, “It’s too bad he’s so 
modest” 






NIGHT FOUR 







eryfeeble voice calling my 


NIGHT FOUR 


“Well, boys,” asked Treport as he came into 
the room and worked his way toward the fire, 
“who’s on deck to-night?” 

“Your watch, I guess,” answered Stay fast. 
“The Commodore’s in irons and wouldn’t either 
wear or stay this evening. I’ve been trying to 
get him round, but it’s no use.” 

“How’s that, Commodore?” asked Treport. 

“I’ve nothing to say,” replied that gentleman. 

“Too much deviled duck last time,” said Tre- 
port. 

“Don’t scratch old sores,” said Stayfast, “we’ll 
just leave him alone for a spell. He’s frozen 
up like Munchausen’s horn; wait till the fire 
warms him a bit and he’ll tune up fast enough.” 

“I think we ought to make that noted gentle- 
man the patron of our society,” said the Commo- 
dore, thawing a morsel. 

“What noted gentleman, Commodore?” asked 
Bossington. 

“Munchausen.” 

“Not while I live,” said Stayfast. “He was 

“5 


n6 


The Four and the Fire 


a silly old liar and I’ve got no use for anybody 
that relates such bare-faced fabrications. There’s 
not even a wash of truth on them. I believe 
that a yarn should sparkle like a false diamond 
in a Broadway store window, so you can’t tell 
it from the real thing, until you go inside and 
ask the price and find out you can buy it for 
fifty cents a carat. What sense is there in tell- 
ing a story that everybody knows to be a lie — a 
lie utterly devoid of facts from the first breath?” 

“Professional jealousy,” grunted the Commo- 
dore. 

“Not a bit, Tred. I don’t pretend to have the 
gift as you do. I’m content to go my way 
through the world relating actual happenings, 
tales of field and flood, that will bear in all their 
particulars the closest scrutiny. I’ll admit that 
occasionally I slightly exaggerate the details, but 
that is simply to enhance the beauty of the narra- 
tive, and that sometimes my memory betrays me 
into mistakes as to dates and other minor par- 
ticulars, but I never deliberately construct a tale 
out of nothing but imagination and, and, 
and ” 

“Smoke,” suggested the Commodore. 

“Well, smoke, if you’ll have it that way. Which 


The Four and the Fire 


ii 7 


reminds me that I left my pipe home; who's got 
a cigar?" 

“I have, Jack," said Bossington, handing over 
his case. 

“Jack," said Treport as the worthy member 
paused to light up, “you ought to start in a new 
business." 

“What's that?" 

“Story analyzer. You might advertise to an- 
alyze yarns and issue certificates over your sig- 
nature like those fellows do who test soap and 
whiskey. They'd read something like this : Dear 
Sir — Having purchased your yarns in the open 
market I find by careful analysis that they consist 
of ninety per cent pure facts and ten per cent ex- 
aggeration." 

“You can't compare my stories to soap," said 
Stayfast. 

“No," grunted the Commodore, “there's more 
lye than fat in them." 

“Oh, go on insult me and you'll get what you 
want. You are always trying to bully me into 
telling yarns out of my turn. I came down 
here to-night expecting to have a quiet evening 
as a gentleman should, and I no sooner get 


n8 


The Four and the Fire 


seated than you two start in to bull-bait me. 
Where’s the steward?” 

“Not here to-night,” said Treport. “They’ve 
had a case of smallpox up where he lives and 
the Board of Health has quarantined the whole 
house.” 

“That’s bad. I hope he don’t get it, and 
bring it here.” 

“Did you ever have it, Jack?” asked Boss- 
ington. 

“Well, the doctors did not call it that, Bossy, 
but thank goodness it’s a fast disappearing dis- 
ease, but common enough when I was a boy. 
Only the other day I was reading of an English 
Earl back in the Eighteenth Century who had 
an insane dread of the disease. He took all 
sorts of absurd precautions against it. Never 
stopping in any houses but his own, and in 
order to travel between his country seat and 
London, had a relay of houses, seven or eight 
of them, where he put up over night.” 

“I suppose he died of it at last, Jack,” said 
Treport. 

“No, strange to say, he was killed by acci- 
dent.” 


The Four and the Fire 


1 19 


“Killed by accident! How was that?” asked 
Bossingtom 

“Struck by lightning. He went out walk- 
ing on Christmas day during a heavy snow storm, 
and took shelter under the eaves of a barn. The 
lightning struck an icicle hanging on the eaves, 
ran down it and killed him.” 

“Whew, shades of Munchausen!” exclaimed 
the Commodore. 

“Shades of anybody you like, Tred, but facts 
are facts.” 

“Yes, facts are facts, just like figures are 
figures; but sometimes the former lie just as the 
latter do in a Life Insurance Company’s annual 
statement.” 

“We don’t seem to be getting any nearer to 
a start,” said Treport, “with the Commodore in 
irons, and Jack backing and filling; so if agree- 
able, I’ll open the session with a smallpox story, 
that seeming to be the latest subject of our con- 
versation.” 

“Good for you, let’s have it; but first let me 
stir up the fire a bit;” and Stayfast threw on a 
log and gave the embers a good rousing over. 



Night Four — * K He came aft holding it in his two 
hands , but in a careless way” 



Treport's Story 


About six seasons ago I was cruising down 
East in my yawl and had Len Richards with me. 
We were a bit short-handed and while at New 
Bedford I looked up an old friend and asked 
him to go along. He was up to his ears in 
business and couldn't get away, but he intro- 
duced me to a chum of his whom he said would 
be glad to join us. I didn't much like the looks 
of this chap, whom I will call Smith, because 
it isn't like his name, and he's still alive, I be- 
lieve, and if you met him might be impolite 
enough to contradict the story and so endanger 
my social standing. 

This chap turned out to be a thorough-going 
nuisance. I don't know whether you ever 
noticed it, but the genus fool is divided into any 
number of species. There are silly fools, wise 
fools, stubborn fools, willing fools, extraordi- 
nary fools, just ordinary fools, singing fools, 
writing fools, laughing fools, serious fools and 
a number of sub-orders, but the worst of all 
fools to my mind is the joking fook Smith was 


121 


122 


The Four and the Fire 


that kind. Everything in earth, air and water 
was to him nothing but the basis for a joke 
of some kind. 

For the first two days he was sort of tame, 
waiting to get acquainted, but he soon blos- 
somed out in his full beauty. Kerosene in the 
tobacco; knots in the halyards; noise on deck; 
throwing water; upsetting the dingey and all 
kinds of annoying tricks* We put up with his 
monkey-shines for a day or two and then tried 
to teach him a lesson, but it was no use. 

One night we went ashore and after a time 
shook him; when we got back to the dock the 
dingey was gone. We shouted and yelled but 
he took no notice. There were plenty of boats 
about but no oars, so at last we paddled out 
with a couple of boards, and found him pre- 
tending to be asleep. It was raining, we were 
soaking wet, and Len was mad enough to eat 
him. But the fool only laughed and considered 
it a good joke. The next day he deliberately 
ran the yawl aground. This ended in a row, 
but the next morning he turned up all smiles 
and livened up things by throwing a bucket of 
water down the fore-scuttle on top of the oil- 
stove. As it happened to hit Len at the same 


The Four and the Fire 


123 


time there was a fight and the clown got the 
worst of it. 

For the rest of that day he kept quiet, and we 
made up our minds to maroon him at the next 
port. But he was too foxy and would not go 
ashore. The day after we put in to Holmes Hole 
for stores, our locker having run dry. All three 
of us went ashore. Smith left us at the store 
and went for a walk over to Cottage City. After 
ordering what we wanted and getting them 
made ready, I felt in my pocket for the money 
to pay, and found Fd left it in my other pants 
aboard the boat. So I told the old chap who 
kept the store, and he said it would be all right, 
I could pay him when I came ashore. So we 
left the store and went for a stroll. 

In about two hours we came back and stopped 
in to get the stuff and take it aboard. The old 
fellow who kept the place was behind the 
counter. He looked at us kind of fierce, and said : 

“You can’t take them things till you pay for 
’em.” 

“Why, what’s up?” said I, a bit surprised. 

“Well, I ain’t going to let you have them till 
I get the money,” he said surlily. 

This made Len mad and he let out, and he 


124 


The Four and the Fire 


and the old fellow began exchanging compli- 
ments. Just then another chap stepped up and 
asked: “Where’re you fellows from?” 

“What’s that to you?” said I. 

“A good deal,” said he ; “I’ve a good mind to 
run you in.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said I, and 
added, “This is a pretty dirty way to treat 
people.” 

“Oh, we are on to your game,” said the fel- 
low, who from his buttons I saw was a village 
cop. 

“You can’t cheat me,” says the old fellow. 

“Who wants to cheat you, you old fool !” said 
I. “I told you I’d pay you, didn’t I? You 
can keep your darn truck and go to Hades with 
it for all I care;” and we walked out of the 
store. 

The cop followed us down to the dock Len 
wanted to lick him, but I persuaded him to put 
it off until a later date, and we went aboard. 

It never struck me for a moment what was at 
the bottom of all this, being too surprised at the 
unexpected reception, until we got on board the 
yawl. Then I said to Len, “There’s some- 
thing on the underside of this thing; I know 


The Four and the Fire 


125 


those people and they never would have acted 
like that unless they’ve been put up to it.” 

“Who’d put ’em up to it?” asked Len. 

“Why, that darn fool Smith; you just stay 
here and I will go ashore and do a little detec- 
tive work.” 

“All right,” he said; “but I’ll kill that idiot 
when he comes back and ask for an explanation 
afterwards.” 

I went on shore and soon found the cop. 

“Look here,” I said, “I want to talk to you.” 

“All right,” he said, putting on his best of- 
ficial air. 

“What’s at the bottom of this?” 

“Bottom of what?” he said. 

“Bottom of this treating us like a couple of 
thieves.” 

“You ought to know,” he says. 

“Well, I don’t; but I’ll find out darn quick, 
and I’ll make it hot for you. I’m a friend of 
So-and-So,” mentioning the names of half-a- 
dozen prominent people I knew on the island. 

“Where’d you come from?” he asked, soften- 
ing a bit. 

“New York.” 

“That your yacht?” 


126 


The Four and the Fire 


“Yes.” 

“Ever been here before?” 

“Yes, dozens of times. I've bought lots of 
stuff in this town, and paid for it too.” 

“Well, maybe it’s a mistake; I don't know.” 

“I guess you don't. Who gave the old man 
the tip?” 

“He got it over the telephone.” 

“Where from?” 

“Cottage City ; and then he sent for me to ar- 
rest you if you took the goods.” 

“Come up to the store with me.” 

“Now, look here,” said I to the storekeeper, 
“who told you we were going to pay you with 
the topsail-sheet?” 

“I don’t know; somebody 'phoned it over to 
me from Cottage City. I ain't got nothin' agin 
you only what I heard.” 

“What was that?” 

The old fellow hesitated, hummed and hawed 
a bit and then said, “They told me you was a 
couple of skins, and that you'd done everybody 
between here and Boston, and not to let you 
have nothin' unless you paid fer it.” 

“What kind of a voice did the man have who 
telephoned you?” I asked. 


The Four and the Fire 


1 27 


“Couldn't say*” 

“Did he laugh?” 

“Yes, he did.” 

“Kind of a queer laugh?” 

“Yes, it were.” 

“All right,” said I, “I know who it was.” 

“Who was it?” asked the constable. 

“Why, that darn fool of a fellow cruising 
with us. He thinks it's a funny joke.” 

“Wouldn't been much fun if I'd 'rested you,” 
said his nibs. 

“No, not for you or that old fool there;” and 
I went off aboard the yacht. 

When I reached the yacht I found Len sit- 
ting on the side of the cabinhouse. 

“Well?” he said. 

“Just what I told you,” said I. “It was that 
fool Smith.” 

We then both sat in the cockpit for some time 
saying nothing, but doing a lot of deep think- 
ing. At last Richards, giving his leg a slap, 
sprang up and shouted: 

“I have it ; I'll fix that silly ass ; I'll make him 
wish he had never played a joke in his life.” 

“Well, what's the scheme?” I asked. 


128 


The Four and the Fire 


‘Til tell you when I come back,” Len said, 
jumping into the dingey and pulling for shore. 

In about ten minutes he came back with a 
small bottle in his hand which I saw from the 
label came from the drug store. I forgot to 
tell you that Richards knew something about 
medicine, his father being a prominent doctor 
in New York. The old man wanted Len to take 
up the business but after trying it he gave it 
up and began to study law, saying that he didn’t 
mind robbing people but he balked at murder- 
ing them. 

As soon as he got aboard, he said, “Come 
down below and let’s get hold of that fool’s 
dress-suit case.” After we had unstrapped it, 
Richards told me to find how many undershirts 
Smith had, and to take them out. I found two. 

“Give me one,” said Len, “and take the other 
and chuck it overboard and sink it.” 

I went down in the bilge, got half a brick, 
wrapped it in Smith’s undershirt and hove the 
bundle overboard. When I got below again 
Len had gotten through with his business and 
we strapped the suit case up and went on deck. 

“Now,” said Richards, “after we get under- 
way and he is sitting aft here, you call my at- 


The Four and the Fire 


129 


tention to some dirt on the deck and ask me to 
take a bucket and swill it off. I shall accidently 
trip on something and land the water all over 
Mr. Smith.” 

“All right,” said I; “but what’s the game?” 

“Well, the game is to get Smith to put on 
that undershirt in his suit case, the breast of 
which is well doctored with croton oil.” 

“What will that do?” said I. 

“Why, inside of twelve hours he’ll think he’s 
got the worst case of smallpox this side of North 
Brothers Island, and will be only too anxious 
to leave us at the first port we strike. Now 
after he gets the shirt on, say along in the even- 
ing when all is quiet, you must casually men- 
tion the fact that smallpox is very bad at the 
Vineyard and that you are glad that we did not 
stay there longer. Then rake up all your old 
mossy morgue stories and relate them in your 
gentlest Sunday-school manner. I will deliver 
a lecture on the symptoms and appearance of 
the disease and of its frightful mortality, and 
how if any victim in the early stages of the dis- 
ease receives a wetting it is sure to be fatal. By 
to-morrow we will have that darned idiot look- 
ing like the inside of a whitewash barrel.” 


130 


The Four and the Fire 


“All right, my boy,” said I, “I will do my best ; 
but the first and only jog I see in the programme 
is to get that shirt on Smith.” 

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Len ; “he’ll 
get wet even if I have to take him in my arms 
and fall overboard, clasped in one fond em- 
brace. Now shut up, there he is on the dock, 
yelling for the dink.” 

After we were underway and clear of the 
harbor, Smith sat down in the corner of the cock- 
pit and began fishing to try and find out if his 
joke had worked, but we pretended ignorance of 
his inquiries. 

While he was thus engaged I suggested to 
Richards, who had just got through coiling 
down, that it would be a good idea to swill the 
deck off. Len, after protesting that the job was 
unnecessary and could be done just as well at 
sun-down, took the bucket and began throwing 
water around. I called his attention to some 
dirt in the waterways, just behind where Smith 
was sitting, and drawing a full bucket he came 
aft holding it in his two hands, but in a care- 
less way; not paying attention to where he was 
going, his foot struck the eye-bolt of the pre- 
venter stay and losing his balance he fell and the 


The Four and the Fire 


131 


whole bucket of water was unfortunately emptied 
ever our genial companion. 

At first, after he had the water out of his eyes 
and mouth, Smith was inclined to be angry and 
say some disagreeable things, but Len was so 
earnest and so profuse in his apologies, and I 
was so sorry that it had happened, that Smith 
after a few minutes really believed that it was an 
accident. So it was — one kind of an accident. 

I now insisted that Smith go below and shift 
his clothes, and Len offered to light the stove 
and make him a red-hot drink. He took our 
advice and soon appeared in a dry suit and a 
most cheerful mood, having swallowed the drink 
which Len had taken care to well caulk. 

That night the wind having died out and the 
tide setting to the Eastward we anchored in 
Quicks Hole. About eight o’clock Smith began 
to get restless, evidently the oil was beginning 
to get in its work; so Len gave me the tip and 
we shoved the smallpox record into the con- 
versation and opened up the Chamber of Hor- 
rors for the benefit of our lubricated friend. 

He was not in a conversational mood himself; 
in fact he had never been so quiet since we 
shipped him. At last Len asked him if he did 


132 


The Four and the Fire 


not feel well. He admitted that he was slightly 
under the weather, attributing it to some ice- 
cream he had eaten at Cottage City. 

This led Len to suggest that perhaps the cream 
contained ptomaine poison, and that several hun- 
dred people had died this Summer from the same 
cause and suggested that Smith take another 
large hooker of whiskey and turn in. This he 
rather sadly consented to do, and we bid him 
good-night. 

Next morning Len and I got the yawl under- 
way and shaped the course for Newport. Smith 
did not show up on deck, but when I was down 
below in the galley cooking some coffee I heard 
a very feeble voice calling my name. 

It was Smith. He complained of feeling very 
unwell. I suggested several little remedies, like 
coffee and whiskey, but he refused to take any- 
thing. So then I asked him if he would like to 
have Len look at him, as Richards was kind of 
an amateur doctor, and he might suggest some- 
thing that would relieve his troubles. 

Going on deck I took the wheel from Len and 
told him to go below and examine Smith and 
diagnose his disease. In about five minutes he 
called me to come to him, so hauling the head 


The Four and the Fire 


133 


sheet aweather I hove the boat to and went 
down. Len was standing over Smith with a 
very grave expression on his face and as I came 
up he drew back the shirt from the patient’s 
chest and showed me a most splendid crop of 
eruptions. 

I was really startled, never having seen any- 
thing like that before, and I suppose my amaze- 
ment showed on my face, for Smith echoed my 
exclamation of surprise by uttering a most 
sepulchral groan. 

“What is it?” I asked Richards, recovering 
from my first fright. Len shook his head and 
said: 

“I’m afraid he’s got it.” 

“Got what, ice-cream poisoning?” 

“No, smallpox.” 

At this word all the life went out of Smith’s 
face, he was as white as a sheet, his head fell 
back on the pillow, he was too far gone even to 
groan. 

I really felt sorry for him and for a minute 
or two regretted we had carried the joke so far, 
and suggested to Len~ that it might not really be 
so bad, that it was probably only sunburn, and 
trying to think of something else that it might 


134 


The Four and the Fire 


be of a mild type, the only disease that quickly 
suggested itself to my mind was trichinosis. 

“Oh, it’s not that,” said Len, “only hogs have 
trichina. This is smallpox pure and simple. I'm 
sure of it. The only thing I am sorry for is 
that Smith got that wetting yesterday afternoon ; 
they say that even getting your feet damp in 
the early stages is absolutely fatal. But I 
wouldn't worry if I were you, Smith; you are 
young, have a strong constitution, and a cheer- 
ful disposition, and after you recover you will 
undoubtedly consider the whole thing a good 
joke. It's half the battle in curing the patient 
in having him take a cheerful view of things, 
so brace up and we will soon have you comfort- 
ably bunked in the nearest pest-house.” 

When we were alone on deck I said to Len, 
“What are you going to do with him?” 

“Why,” answered he, “when we get to New- 
port we will suggest that he go ashore and see a 
doctor. Then one of us must call up the Health 
Board on the telephone and notify the Health 
Officer that a man whom we suspect has the 
smallpox, is wandering around the town. They'll 
jug him so quick he won't be able to tell his own 


name. 


The Four and the Fire 


135 


When we reached Newport, about four in the 
afternoon, Smith, recovered from some of his 
fright, expressed an anxiety to go ashore and 
see a doctor, so leaving Len to stow the sails I 
jumped into the dingey and soon landed him. 
Going into a drug store I found out the address 
of the Health Officer and told Smith that the 
doctor he wanted to see was at that place, but did 
not let on who he was officially. He started up 
Thames Street and saying I would follow him, 
I went into the post office. As soon as he was 
out of sight I slipped into a store and called up 
the Health Officer on the 'phone. 

“Is this the Health Officer?" 

“Yes." 

“Well, doctor, there's a man landed from our 
yacht whom I think has the smallpox." 

“Has the what?" 

“The smallpox, doctor." 

“Where is he?" 

“On the way up to your office." 

“Well, that is a fine piece of business. What 
did you let him come ashore for?" 

I thought it was about time to shut off the 
conversation, so hung up the receiver and skipped 
for the boat As soon as I got on board I sug- 


136 


The Four and the Fire 


gested to Len that we had better lose Newport, 
so we hoisted sail, got up anchor, and having a 
good Southwest breeze ran up to Fall River. 
Here we stayed that night and the next day. 

My conscience began to trouble me. A joke 
is a joke, but it seemed to me that we had car- 
ried this thing too far, and I pictured poor Smith 
lying on a cot in the pest-house, serenely wait- 
ing the last call, and the whole of Newport 
scared stiff for fear that he had spread the dis- 
ease among the people of the city. If he had 
only given it to some of the prices in the grocery 
and butcher stores I would not have minded it, 
but I was very anxious about the “Four Hun- 
dred." 

At last I had a heart-to-heart talk with Rich- 
ards and he agreed with me that we better call 
the joke off, so we went ashore to telephone the 
doctor. 

“Is that you, doctor?" I asked. 

“Yes, what can I do for you?" 

“Well, that man I told you the day before 
yesterday had the smallpox, hadn’t it at all. We 
put croton oil on his undershirt and made him 
believe he had the disease for a joke." 


The Four and the Fire 


137 


“For a joke, eh,” said the doctor; “a sorry 
kind of a joke. I suppose you’ve heard.” 

“Heard what, sir?” I asked. 

“Why, that the man is dead.” 

I was paralyzed, but held the receiver just long 
enough to my ear to hear the doctor turn to 
some one in the room and say: 

“Tell the Chief of Police those men he wants 
are at Fall River/’ 

Then I dropped the telephone and made for 
the door. 

“What’s the matter?” said Len, who was wait- 
ing outside, when he saw my face. 

“He’s dead,” I gasped. 

“Who’s dead?” 

“Why, Smith.” 

“Get out,” said Len. “It’s one of his jokes.” 

“No,” said I ; “the doctor told me that he had 
died.” 

Richards stopped and looked at me for some 
minutes and then said: “If that’s so, we had 
better get out of this;” so we hurried and got 
underway and that night with a fair wind and an 
ebb-tide went down the bay and out to sea. Just 
off Newport a large launch came out and fol- 
lowed for some time in our wake; although nei- 


i3» 


The Four and the Fire 


ther of us said anything, we were both sure it 
was the Chief of Police, and were mighty glad 
when it turned off and ran into a cove. 

We never made a harbor or went nearer to 
any land than we could help until we got home, 
and all the way down at night when on deck 
alone I could see poor Smith’s ghost and hear his 
jackass-like laugh. 

The first thing that I found on my return was 
a letter from my friend in New Bedford. I 
opened it with trembling fingers expecting to 
read a confirmation of the terrible news that we 
had heard at Fall River, but after some common- 
place remarks came a paragraph asking: 

“What the deuce did you fellows do to Smith, 
when you had him off on that cruise ? Since he got 
back to New Bedford he hasn’t played a single 
joke on anybody.” 

I didn’t read any more. I jumped for the 
door and yelled to Len : 

“Smith’s alive.” 

“That’s what I told you,” said Lem “I knew 
that his dying was only one of his dam jokes.” 
* * * 

“I don’t believe in playing practical jokes,” 
said the Commodore, when Treport had finished. 


The Four and the Fire 


139 


“I played one once when I was a young fellow 
that cost a man his life.” 

“How was that, Commodore ?” asked Boss- 
ington. 

“It’s too long a story to tell to-night. I must 
go home. Some other time I’ll tell you of it;” 
and the Commodore put on his coat and went 
out. 



Night Five—" Who's goin' to kill the bally brute ? 


NIGHT FIVE 



Night Five — “ Thee be a foine shot , Master 


NIGHT FIVE 


Stayfast and Bossington were warming up in 
front of the blaze when Treport sailed in and 
reaching up between them came to an anchor. 

What’s that you’re burning?” he asked. 

“Whight’s spinnaker pole; it’s been lying 
around the yard here for months breaking every- 
body’s shins, so I told Sam to cut it up, the other 
wood having given out,” answered Stayfast. 

“Whight will be sore about it,” said Bossing- 
ton. 

“Don’t care if he is; no business to leave his 
spars about the grounds. The club has pro- 
vided a shed for them and they ought to be in 
it. It will teach him a lesson,” said Stayfast. 

“Well, that may be,” remarked Treport; “but 
I am thinking you’ve killed the wrong pig. That 
is not Whight’s pole.” 

“Not Whight’s pole? Well, whose is it?” 

“Yours.” 

“Mine: I guess not.” 

“Well, it is,” insisted Treport, picking up and 
examining a length. “I put that wrapping on 

143 


144 


The Four and the Fire 


myself the day we sprung it off Larchmont, when 
the Commodore let her get aback. I tell you 
it’s your pole, Jack/’ 

“How did it get out of the shed, if it’s mine?’’ 

“Why, last Sunday Sandford was looking for 
his spars, and in the usual way pulled out every- 
body else's and left them lying outside; and I 
suppose your pole was never put in the rack 
again.” 

“Well, 111 be darned, that's one on me. Just 
shove the button. It reminds me of a story 
father used to tell.” 


Stayfast’s Yarn 


Many years ago there lived over on Long Is- 
land on Eatons Neck an old fellow by the name 
of Staunton, who had plenty of money to spend 
and nothing to do but spend it. He used up 
most of his time shooting, fishing, and drinking 
rum. He also had a farm on which he kept a 
lot of fancy stock, particularly poultry, of which 
he was very fond* 

One morning late in the Fall, he and a crony, 
an old bottle-nosed, red-faced Judge, went duck- 
ing down on the beach that lies between Duck 
Harbor and Smithtown Bay. They lay in the 
blind for several hours without getting a single 
bird, and at each disappointment took a pull at 
a large consoler which they had brought along. 
By the time it got too sunny for shooting, they 
were sheeted home, and every single bird looked 
like a flock. 

On the way back they came upon a man 
watching a bunch of tame birds swimming in a 
creek, and old Staunton facetiously inquired 

145 


146 


The Four and the Fire 


what the owner would charge for a shot at the 
fowl. 

After a short consideration the fellow said, 
“Well, I guess a dollar a shot.” 

“All right,” says the Judge, hauling out two 
dollars; “one for each of us.” 

Then they up and fired. Just one duck es- 
caped; the rest lay either dead or fluttering on 
the placid bosom of the creek. 

The fellow helped rake out the eleven corpses 
and after stringing 'em, handed six to old Staun- 
ton and five to the Judge, and homeward they 
continued. 

All the way home old Staunton was chuckling 
to himself. 

“What yer laughing at, Tony?” says the 
Judge. 

“Laughing,” says Staunton, “at the way I 
fooled that fellow. He didn't know it, but I 
pulled both barrels to once.” 

“So did I,” chuckled the Judge. 

The next morning the old man was sleeping 
off his booze and dreaming that he and the Judge 
and half a score of their particular cronies were 
swimming about in a pitch lake in Hades, while 
a lot of young devils on the banks were heav- 


The Four and the Fire 


147 


in g chunks of stone at their heads, and yelling, 
“Duck, you old sinners, duck!” when a servant 
woke him. 

Ordinarily the old man would have cursed the 
domestic for disturbing his slumbers, but the 
dream was so realistic and harrowing he was 
glad to be awakened. 

“John wants to see you, sir,” said the maid. 
John was the farmer. 

“Well, tell him to come up,” says old Staun- 
ton, giving a groan as he lifted his head and sat 
up. 

“What's the matter, cow run dry or the hens 
stopped laying?” he asked, as the man came in. 

“No, zur, it bain't neither, zur,” replies John, 
who was a Somersetshire man, “her come 'ome, 
zur, with her wing broken.” 

“Who came home with her wing broken?” 

“The big drake, zur.” 

“Well, what the devil of it? Is that any ex- 
cuse for waking me up at this hour?” 

“The flock's missing, zur.” 

“What flock?” 

“Our ducks, zur.” 

Old Staunton sat up a bit higher in bed, pulled 
off his red nightcap, scratched his head, and 


148 


The Four and the Fire 


thought for a minute, then said: “John, you go 
down in the cellar and look at those birds hang- 
ing there. Take a good look at 'em, John, and 
then come back to me." 

In about five minutes John returned with a 
tear in his eye and a warm grin round his mug. 

“Well?" asked the old man. 

“Thee be a foine shot, Master. How come 
thee to miss the big drake, zur?" 

The old man reached over the side of the bed, 
but wasn't quick enough, — the boot hit the back 
of the closing door. 

* * * 

“Commodore ought to have heard that story," 
said Treport, “Where is he?" 

“Home," said Bossington. “His brother from 
California is visiting him." 

“That means a lot of new yarns. His brother 
is a grand liar; better than Tred. More imagi- 
nation and less hypocrisy. Tred is the poorest 
liar of the whole family," remarked Stayfast. 
“But I must admit I have learned a great deal 
about the creation of fiction during my long as- 
sociation with Slope." 

“Can I come in?" said a voice, at the half- 
open door. 


The Four and the Fire 


149 


“Sure, Cap, come right in and set down, and 
warm your feet. How'd you blow down this 
way ?" 

“Saw a light in the window, and came over," 
said Sailing Master Skirvine, after greeting the 
three gentlemen. 

“Glad to see you. What's your favorite 
flower ?" 

“Well, Mr. Stay fast, a little Medford and 
lemon, if you don't mind." 

“Shove the button, Bossy, and tell Sam to 
make it two." 

“Three: same for me," added Treport. 

After the hot rum was in hand Stayfast turned 
to the Captain, and asked, “Skirvine, how'd you 
come to get in this yachting game, a deep-water 
dog like you?" 

“Oh, just drifted into it, Mr. Stayfast, just 
drifted into it. You see I came here in Com- 
modore Wallace's time, that's back some thirty 
years. You remember Commodore Wallace, 
Mr. Stayfast." Jack nodded. “Well, he had a 
boy who wasn't that strong and they sent him 
a voyage to China, in a ship I was third mate in, 
the Palladin of Portsmouth. She was a vessel 
of seventeen hundred tons, a big vessel and a fine 


The Four and the Fire 


150 


sailer. I kind of took care of the boy, looked 
after him for the Commodore, and when we got 
home he offered me the job of master of his 
yacht. That was the Regina, she’s broke up 
long ago. I staid with the Commodore for three 
years and then went to sea again, but when he 
built the Crusader, I came back and took her 
and have been yachting ever since. 

“This scar you see on my forehead I got that 
voyage we made with young Wallace. I got 
that from the club of a topmast stunsel. We 
came round the Horn and having a fair wind, 
blowing a small gale, the mate orders the fore- 
topmast stunsel set, as nothing was drawing for- 
’ard. Just as we had her most boom ended the out- 
haul parted. I hollers to the man in the top to 
pass the tack down foreside of the yard, so we 
could lower the sail and pass it aft, when old 
Fussguts, the mate, comes rushing for’ard and 
yells to let go the halyards. So of course we 
did, and the sail blows out over the bows and 
fouls up in the head gear. In trying to clear 
it, the club swung in and gave me that clip on 
the head; it was a nasty crack and nothing 
bothered me for some hours after.” 

“I’d like to ask you a question, Captain,” said 


The Four and the Fire 


I5i 


Bossington. “Which is the sheet on a studding- 
sail ?” 

“Well, I call the rope fitted to the outboard 
clew the tack, that reeves at the boom-end, but 
some say that’s the sheet. I was taught that the 
stunsel sheet came away from the inboard clew.” 

“What did you want to know that for?” asked 
Stayfast. 

“Why, because I had an argument last Sum- 
mer with Bellman as to which was the sheet of 
a spinnaker,” explained Bossington. 

“It depends on what you call a spinnaker. Is 
it a fore-and-aft sail or a squaresail?” 

“It’s a steering sail, sir, and I should think 
its clews would be named same as a squaresail,” 
said the Sailing Master. 

“Well, then the inboard clew is the sheet, and 
the tack reeves through the end of the pole.” 

“That’s what I said,” explained Bossington, 
“but Bellman insisted I was wrong.” 

“Just you tell Bellman that I say he’s wrong. 
Add my compliments so as to soften the blow; 
and now, Cap, what was the strangest adventure 
you ever had at sea.” 

“The strangest adventure? Well, I don’t 
know as I ever seen anything very queer, but 


iS2 


The Four and the Fire 


oncet, and that was when I was a youngster 
aboard a bark called the Dovey Bell. ,, 

“Well, let’s have it,” said Stayfast, hitching 
up his chair and lighting his pipe; “only mind, 
Skipper, we don’t allow any but solemnly sworn - 
to, true stories to be told in front of this fire.” 



Night Five — “ The old man had his gun on the sun.” 


Skirvine's Story 


When I was about eighteen years old, and had 
just got out of ordinary into able-bodied, I 
shipped aboard a small bark called the Dovey 
Belle. She was a well found vessel of about five 
hundred tons, hailing from a Nova Scotia port. 
The skipper and chief were Blue-Noses, and 
the second mate a Jerseyman from down Cape 
May way. For'ard we had eight men and a 
cook, a North Carolina darkey. The steward 
aft was an Englishman, a little fellow who was 
drowned falling off the plank while coming 
aboard after making a night of it in Mobile, 
The bark was a fine sailer, easy on her helm, 
and the grub tollable good. The only mean 
thing about the vessel was a big Newfoundland 
dog that was the pet of the Oldman's. This 
dog Sambo was a nasty brute, and all hands 
hated him. She had a wide house aft, and the 
main braces belayed on the rail of it, so that in 
order to take a pull on them, it was necessary to 
go on the poop. Every time a man went aft 

153 


154 


The Four and the Fire 


to take a pull on the braces that darn brute of a 
dog would make a grab at his heels. 

Sailors, as you know, sir, like to go barefoot 
in warm latitudes; but on this bark every time 
we went aft we had to put on our boots on ac- 
count of that brute’s trickss When he jumps at 
us the Oldman would take no notice unless we 
pulled a pin or kicked at him. 

Then he’d say, “Naughty Sambo! come here, 
you bad dog; mustn’t bite sailorman;” or some 
such silly woman-talk. The first mate, who, the 
steward said, was trying to join warps with the 
skipper’s daughter, made a great pretense of lik- 
ing the dog, and would call us down if we kicked 
or hit him. 

The darn brute knew this and if the Oldman 
was below would run for shelter behind the 
mate’s legs. He was up to snuff, for he never 
ventured off the quarter-deck unless the Old- 
man was with him. He would chase us to the 
break, and bark and snap, but never came down 
into the waist. At night he slept in the Old- 
man’s berth, and generally kept out of the way 
unless the chief mate was on deck. 

The second mate hated the brute and every 
chance he got of giving Sambo a reminder, he 


The Four and the Fire 


155 


gave it to him. This got the skipper down on 
him, although a better sailor, or more willing of- 
ficer, never trod a deck. It used to make me 
sick sometimes when at the wheel to hear a man 
like the skipper talking baby-talk to this big 
brute of a dog, and often the second mate, 
whose watch I was in, from behind the Oldman, 
would make fun of him ; it was all I could do to 
keep from laughing out loud. 

Well, one day the mate sings out to take in the 
slack of the weather main-brace, when a fellow 
in his watch named Dick Deal, without thinking 
about his boots, jumps up on the poop to obey. 
He throws the coil off the pin when the dog 
comes sneaking up behind and takes a nip of his 
ankle. Dick gives a yell and with a hand on the 
bite hobbles for'ard and sits down on the sill of 
the folk'sel, crying and swearing by turns. As 
soon as we got through with the braces we joined 
him, and held a council of war. Some was for 
telling the Oldman that they wouldn't go on the 
poop unless the dog was tied up, others insisted 
he ought to be killed. 

“ Who's goin' to kill the bally brute?" says 
Liverpool George. “He won't come into the 
waist, 'less the Oldman's along of him. Yer 


156 


The Four and the Fire 


ain’t none of yer got man enough to kill him on 
the poop under the skipper’s nose, have yer?” 

“Well, I ain’t agoin’ to get bit like Dick here,” 
says another. “Let the Oldman haul them braces 
along with the mates, I’ll not touch ’em while 
that brute is prowling that poop.” 

“Bite yer bad, Deal?” asks the Second Mate, 
coming round the house with a bottle in his 
hand. 

“Yes, sir, pretty bad bite,” whimpers Dick. 

“Here’s some liniment the Oldman sent ye to 
rub on. I just told him he ought to shoot that 
devilish brute.” 

“So he ought, sir,” agreed all hands. 

“Carpenter,” says the Mate, after he had ex- 
amined the hurt, “when you was cleaning out 
the paint locker yisterday did you see a small 
bag of green powder?” 

“Yes, sir,” says Chips; “I seen it in a brown 
paper bag, sir.” 

“Well, don’t none of yer eat that stuff. It’s 
sure death. Now then,” he hollers, so they 
could hear it aft, “get that taykle and get a drag 
on that fore-sheet, do you want the foot in the 
top?” 


The Four and the Fire 


157 


After we got the sail trimmed a committee 
of two called on the cook. 

“Doctor,” says I, “what particular dish of 
food does Sambo most like?” 

The coon stops stirring the pot and placing 
his finger to his cheek thought profoundly for a 
minute and then said: 

“Well, I suspect dat a large meat ball is about 
what he reaches for de quickest and swallows 
de rapidest.” 

“Got any on hand?” 

“No, ain't got none dis day, but I make some 
for breffast to-morrer.” 

“Well, you just lose two on your way from 
the galley to the cabin. Drop 'em on the main 
hatch.” 

“If de ship happen to roll dat particular mo- 
ment, maybe dey fall offer de dish, who knows ?” 

Next morning the ship rolled at the right time, 
and two extra big meat balls were found on the 
hatch. Then there was a long dispute as to the 
best time to plant them. It was admitted that it 
must be done some time when the Oldman was 
below, as he watched the dog too closely, and 
would be sure to see him pick the food up. At 
last it was decided as the mate would have the 


158 


The Four and the Fire 


morning watch the dog would come on deck 
with him. Liverpool, who was in the mate’s 
watch and had plenty of nerve, agreed to take 
the first trick and place the bait. It was to be 
placed in the coil of the spanker sheet, a favor- 
ite spot for Sambo to slumber in the early hours 
of the day. 

When Liverpool came forward at six o’clock 
all hands were waiting to hear the news, the 
watch in, having left particular orders to be 
wakened if asleep. 

“Well?” asked Shark Joyce, who was the old- 
est hand and therefore by right of age the offi- 
cial questioner. 

Liverpool’s only answer was to shape his fists 
and opening his mouth make a pretense of swal- 
lowing them. There was a suppressed cheer. 

About four bells in the forenoon watch Sambo 
began to act queer. I was at the wheel. He 
walked in circles and staggered round, seeming 
not to see clearly. Pretty soon the second mate 
noticed him. 

“What ails that dog, Skirvine?” he asked. 

“Don’t know, sir; he seems like he was going 
to have a fit.” 


The Four and the Fire 


159 


“Jump below and call the Captain/' he ordered, 
taking the wheel from me. 

I went down and told the Oldman that Mr. 
Dayrell thought the dog was going to have a fit, 
and he jumped for the deck. 

Poor old Sambo was fast going. The Old- 
man, tears running down his face, and aided by 
the steward and the mate, was doing the best 
for him. They had blankets and hot water, and 
tried to force medicine down his throat, but it 
was no use. Sambo slowly stiffened out and 
gave up the ghost, just as five bells struck. I 
really felt sorry for the Oldman, it was just as 
if he had lost a child. The mate also tried to 
weep but only squeezed out about one tear. The 
steward and second mate made a pretense of 
joining in the lamentations, but the latter was 
making faces behind the Oldman's back, and 
trying to upset the steward, who nearly broke 
down several times. After my relief the mate 
kept me to assist carrying water and things, so 
I was present at the death. 

After it was over I went for'ard and there 
had to tell to the smallest particular everything 
that had happened. Little sorrow at this time 


i6o 


The Four and the Fire 


was felt in the folk’sel. I regret to say that 
there was great rejoicing in a quiet way. 

The cook and carpenter were called aft and 
questioned by the Oldman, who suspected what 
had caused Sambo’s tragic death, — or murder he 
called it ; but both denied having anything to do 
with the tragedy. Cook swore he hadn’t given 
the dog anything to eat, and the carpenter with 
equal truth asserted that the key of the paint 
locker had not been out of his shop to his knowl- 
edge. 

That afternoon the Oldman got a bolt of new 
canvas out of the lazarette and he and the mate 
made the dog a shroud into which they sewed 
him, with half-a-dozen iron dogs and a couple 
of old sheeves for ballast. At sunset the Old- 
man, after a lot of backing-and-filling, called all 
hands into the waist, and had a regular sea 
funeral. At the conclusion of a speech in which 
he roundly denounced the murderers of his dear 
pet, Sambo was launched overboard, and went 
down with a splash. That night it fell calm, 
and was calm all the next morning and the 
bark lay wallowing about, everything slatting. 

On shifting the watch the mate sent me aloft 
to overhaul and stop the buntlines, and while up 


The Four and the Fire 


161 


there I took a look around and could see not a 
sign of sail anywhere about. Just before noon, 
the Oldman and the mate were aft shooting the 
sun, and two of the watch were on the lee cat- 
head doing some little job, when one of them 
— Dick, the fellow who’d been bitten — hears a 
noise like a porpoise blowing alongside and 
looks down. He gave a shriek and jumped to 
his feet yelling, “There’s Sambo ! there’s 
Sambo!” and springs to the deck and flies aft 
like the devil was at his heels. 

The Oldman had his gun on the sun, but hear- 
ing Dick’s yell he drops it, and comes running 
for’ard with the mate after him. 

As soon as he sees the dog he grabs the slack 
of the staysail sheet and making a bowline slips 
it over his buttocks and orders us to lower him 
away. When he got down to the water he hol- 
lers for a line and I dropped him one, and he 
slings the dog and shouts to hoist away. We 
did and when we got the dog over the rail he 
just flopped, he was that tired out. Well, we 
all hung spellbound over that dog and forgot the 
Oldman, who was getting soused every time she 
rolled, until Dutchy, the boy, who was holding 
the turn, calls out that the skipper was drown- 


The Four and the Fire 


162 


in g, when we turned to and hauled him aboard, 
wet as a rat but delighted to have his dog back. 

He and the mate got a tarpaulin and carried 
the beast aft in it, and laid him in the sun on the 
poop, when the Oldman and the steward dried 
him off with cloths. The Oldman was nearly 
hysterical with joy, and it was funny to see him 
dancing about the poor brute and calling him 
every pet name he could lay his tongue to. 

We were a pretty sick crowd for'ard and no- 
body had much to say. Most of us had regretted 
what we'd done, no sooner was the dog over- 
side. Sailors are always good to animals, and never 
will hurt one knowingly, much less take their 
life, unless it be a shark or a porpoise, the first 
out of hatred and the second because he is good 
eating. The carpenter and second mate were 
the only two who openly rejoiced in having 
cooked Sambo's goose. The cook when he saw 
the returned dog went white with fright and 
could not be made to go near him. 

Of course, there was the usual conflab in the 
folk'sel that dog watch, and the second mate 
came for'ard and had a look in. He and the 
carpenter scouted the idea that the sea- waif was 
Sambo. They insisted it was another dog. 


The Four and the Fire 


1 63 


Says Chips, “You can’t tell me that there dorg 
ever got free of that there canvas. He’s at the 
bottom right enough.” 

“Well, if that ain’t Sambo,” said Shark Joyce, 
“what dorg is it? That’s what I’m asking ye, 
Mr. Dayrell and Carpenter. Dorgs ain’t drop- 
pin’ from the sky, and they ain’t swimmin’ off- 
shore some ten days’ sailin’. Ef that dorg ain’t 
the Oldman’s dorg, I’ll eat ’im.” 

“Well, you’ll have to, for I’ll swear it’s not 
the old dog. He was dead and cold dead when 
he went overside,” said the Second Mate. 

“Don’t he look like Sambo, sir?” asked I. 

“Yes, I’ll admit he does; but lots of them 
Newfoundlands look alike. Who was aloft this 
forenoon?” he asked. 

“I was,” said I. 

“See any sails?” 

“No, sir; I took a look around and seen 
nothing.” 

This kind of confused the mate, and all hands 
grinned. 

“Well, there must have been; that dog’s fell 
off some other vessel that’s in our grain;” and 
so saying he went aft. 

“Chips,” says Shark, “you and the mate is 


164 


The Four and the Fire 


like them folks ashore as preachers calls skiptics 
— them as don’t believe what they sees is plain 
to them and other folks what sees it plain.” 

“Maybe I be/’ says Chips ; “but I ain’t afeared 
of no ord’nary dorg.” 

“Afeared of no dorg?” says Shark, getting up 
and going out of the folk’sel. “No or’nary dorg, 
no ; but a dorg what can work clear of that there 
canvas after goin’ down a thousand fathom and 
then swim for four, nigh five watches, ain’t no 
or’nary dorg, an’ I ain’t goin’ to say I ain’t 
afeared, carpenter, howso’er ye be.” 

Well, the next day Sambo got on his feet 
again, was quite lively; but a better-natured or 
behaved dog no vessel’s crew ever saw. He’d 
lost or forgotten all his old tricks. You might 
have gone strip naked on the poop for all he’d 
bother you. In the forenoon watch, me and the 
second mate and Joyce were setting up the lower 
main rigging, when down comes the dog and 
joins us, stands there wagging his tail like a 
pleased cat. Next afternoon when I goes 
for’ard to call one bell, there he is sleeping in 
the middle of the folk’sel floor with Shark’s best 
oiler under his head. Strange to say, he took a 
great liking to Mr. Dayrell and the carpenter and 


The Four and the Fire 


165 


didn't seem to care for the Oldman or the mate. 
Of course, Sambo's reformed manners was the 
subject for'ard and many were the explanations. 

Says Shark: “It ain't queer; if you'd gone 
down to where that dorg has an' come ter life 
again, after fetchin' soundings in a thousand 
fathom, I'm livin' to say you would be different 
from what you was, seein' as you was different 
afore you went by the board." 

“It reminds me," said the Second Mate, one 
dog watch when we was gathered listening to 
him and the carpenter overhauling things proper, 
“of an uncle of mine who ran a tide-mill. He 
got prosperous and let it get the weather of him 
or else it was the dust in his throat, but along 
about fifty, he got to sitting out high-water in 
a tavern called the Cat-and-Mice. When it came 
time to go back and start the mill he was three 
sheets in the wind. To save going round by the 
bridge, he'd shipped a plank over the tail-race. 
One night he comes back, but some one had 
embargoed the plank, and he walks over- 
side into the race. The tide was running and 
he floats off downstream, fetching up on a sedge 
bank, where he lay till morning, when a fisher- 
man fetched him off. Well, just like Sambo, 


1 66 


The Four and the Fire 


that there ducking changed his manners; he 
never went near no tavern no more, and spent 
high-tide time a-singing hymns and reading the 
good book. ,, 

Well, to cut the yarn short, we made port and 
got rid of our cargo of staves and swept hold 
to load sugar in bags. One day while we was 
waiting for the lighters to come off, a Yankee ly- 
ing alongside of us gets underway, and her crew 
being well rumified gets to singing and holler- 
ing as they ways her hook. Sambo gets up with 
his paws on the rail and watches them, when just 
as the schooner trips, over the rail he goes and 
swims for her. 

Our boat was ashore with the Oldman, so we 
hollers for a bum-boat to pick the dog up, but 
the schooner's crew hollers for him to leave him 
alone. Well, come to tell, Sambo gets alongside 
the schooner, and they haul him aboard, and off 
he goes and that's the last we seen of that dog. 

* * * 

“Do you suppose it was the same dog, Cap- 
tain?" asked Treport. 

“Couldn't say for sure, sir, but it looked ex- 
actly like him." 


The Four and the Fire 


167 


“What do you think, Jack?” 

“I’m no authority on dogs, my boy, but if you 
ask about the yarn I’ll say this: it’s worth an- 
other drink, a large, full, able-bodied drink, so 
touch the button.” 




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Sailing Alone Around the World. By Capt. Joshua Slocum 2.00 

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Ten Thousand Miles in a Yacht. By Richard Arthur 2.00 

The American Battleship in Commission. As seen by an Enlisted Man. 

By Thos. Beyer 1.50 

The Race for the Emperor’s Cup. By Paul E. Stevenson 1.50 

The Black Barque. By T. J. Hains 1.50 

The Falcon, Baltic. By C. F. Knight. 1.25 

Twenty-six Historic Ships. By F. S. Hill 3.00 

Voyage of the Paper Canoe. By N. H. Bishop 1.50 


Any of the above sent express prepaid in the United States or 
Canada on receipt of prices. Send postal for complete 
catalogue. 


How to remit: 


The cheapest way is to send post-office or express 
money order, payable to The Rudder Publishing 
Company. If bank check is more convenient, include ten cents for bank ex- 
change; if postage stamps or bills, letter must be Registered, Otherwise 
at Sender’s Risk. 


The Rudder Publishing Co. 


Nine Murray Street 


New York City 



RUDDER 

'T V HE policy of The Rudder is to give to yachts- 
A men a thoroughly practical periodical, dealing 
with the sport of yachting in all its phases, and 
especially to furnish them with the designs and plans 
of vessels adapted to their wants in all localities. 

In each issue is a design of a sailing or power craft, and at least four 
times a year a complete set of working drawings is given, so that the un- 
skilled can try a hand at building with a certainty of making a success of 
the attempt. 

In the last two years over 500 boats have been built from designs 
printed in the magazine, and in almost every case have given satisfaction. 

Outside of the strictly practical, the magazine has always a cargo of 
readable things in the way of cruises and tales, while its illustrations are 
noted for their novelty and beauty. 

The editor desires to increase the size of the magazine and to add to 
its features. In order to do this it is necessary that it be given the hearty 
support of all who are interested in the sport. The cost of a subscription, 
$3 a year, is as low as it is possible to make it and furnish a first-class 
publication, and he asks yachtsmen to subscribe, as in that way they can 
materially assist him in keeping the magazine up to its present standard 
of excellence. 

$3.00 a Year Foreign, $4.00 

The Rudder Publishing Company 

9 Murray Street New York 

How to Remit: The cheapest way is to send post-office or express 
money order, payable to the RUDDER PUBLISHING COMPANY . If 
bank check is more convenient, include 10c. for bank exchange; if postage 
stamps or bills, letter must be Registered, Otherwise at Sender’s Risk, 


THE 

CRUISER 

A Quarterly Magazine of 
Cruising Tales and 
Adventures 


Built to Bind for a Library 

Subscription $1.00 a year. 35c. per copy. 
Bound Volume $1.50 each. 

Send for Complete Catalogue of Books for the Yachtsman’s Library 


The Rudder Publishing Company 

9 Murray Street New York 

J 


THE RACE FOR THE 
EM PE ROR’S CUP 


By PAUL E. STEVENSON 



A graphic story 
of the famous race 
across the Western 
Ocean in 1905. 


Handsomely i 1 1 u s - 
trated with pictures of 
all the yachts that sailed 
in the contest. 


Price $1.50 Postpaid 

Send for Complete Catalogue of Books for the Yachtsman’s Library 


The Rudder Publishing Company 


9 Murray Street 


New York 



f— 

The Adventures 

OF 

Two Yachtsmen 

Transcribed from the Notebook of the Late 
John Gordon Falcon 

By Thomas Fleming Day 

A TALE of the largest and stormiest of oceans 
where roll the great seas that circle the 
world. 

Bound from New Zealand to New York by way 
of the Horn, two yachtsmen are cast away on an 
unknown island. 

A true story of how fate followed and dealt with 
a schooner and her crew. 

Price, Cloth, $1.00 
Paper Cover, 25 cents 

Send for Complete Catalogue of Books for the Yachtsman’s Library 

The Rudder Publishing Company 

9 Murray Street New York City 

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